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ititiiiMitilitiMil.tiMifilititilif.tiMi' 


THE 


ITALIAN    GIRL. 


BY 


KATHARINE   SEDGWICK  WASHBURN, 

AUTHOR  OF  "  ISA." 


BOSTON : 
LEE    AND    SHEPARD,    PUBLISHERS. 

NEW  YORK: 
LEE,  SHEPARD   AND  DILLINGHAM. 

1874. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  In  the  year  1874, 

BY  K.  8.  WASI1BURN, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


THE    ITALIAN    GIRL. 


CHAPTER  I. 

LARGE  tent  had  been  raised  in  the  outskirts 
of  the  city  of  New  York.  From  within  came 
a  melee  of  sounds,  loud  laughter,  the  roar  of 
beasts,  the  regular  music  of  horse  opera ;  horses 
were  passing  in  and  out  of  the  tent,  while  a  throng  of 
most  plebeian  creatures,  whom  to  look  at  made  one 
loth  to  belong  to  the  same  race,  were  pressing  forward 
and  jostling  one  another  without  mercy. 

"  Have  you  not  reserved  seats  ? "  said  a  young  and 
elegantly  dressed  lady,  one  of  a  small  party,  to  a  gentle- 
man by  her  side,  who  was  evidently  her  husband. 

"  No  ;  I  inquired  for  them,  but  they  were  already 
taken." 

"  Let  us  go  in  quickly ! "  she  said,  her  face  lighting 
up ;  "I  cannot  help  it,  but  I  like  everything  belonging 
to  horses ;  even  in  the  dreary  monotony  of  that  music 
there  is  something  that  I  half  enjoy." 

"  Mary,"  she  continued  to  a  pretty  girl  just  behind 
her,  who  was  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  young  man,  "keep 
close  to  us." 

"  Yes,  Cecilia,  I  am  here  by  your  side." 

2092100 


8  THE  ITALIAN  GIRL, 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Brandon,  another  of  the  group, 
"how  glorious  this  is;  does  it  not  remind  one  of  the 
early  Christians  being  brought  into  the  arena  at  Rome? 
What  grand  virtues  they  displayed!  How  dimmed  has 
faith  become  since  then.  They  wrestled  with  the  lions 
as  once  saints  did  with  temptation;  how  herculean  the 
task — how  broad  the  platform  !" 

Mrs.  Elliot,  the  lady  who  had  first  spoken,  and  Man- 
looked  slyly  at  one  another. 

"By  Jove,"  said  Mr.  Phillips,  "I  do  not  see  much 
wrestling  here;  those  animals  are  not  commonly  called 
beasts,  Mrs.  Brandon;  they  are  horses!" 

"  Yes,  that  is  a  noble  steed,  indeed!"  said  Mrs.Brandon, 
pointing  to  an  ordinary  trained  horse  that  had  just  en- 
the  ring. 

"  Oh,  here  comes  the  wild  Indian,  no  doubt  to  ride  a 
bare-backed  horse;  lhat  is  the  common  programme!" 
said  Mr.  Pnillips.  "How  delightful,"  turning  to  Mary, 
"the  Cirque  de  1'Imperatrice  was!  That  was  really 
worth  seeing — beautiful  women  and  beautiful  horses!" 

"The  Cirque  was  patronized  by  her  Majesty  the  gra- 
cious Eugenie,"  said  Mrs.  Brandon;  "  I  know  it  well ;  in 
fact,  just  before  the  death — so  sudden,  that  it  took  away 
all  our  breaths,  and  we  paused  before  the  flush  of  life 
came  flooding  back  over  our  party — the  death,  I  mean, 
of  poor  Grey,  who  watched  with  such  interest  my  career 
in  Eun  >i>.-,  \\v  passed  through  Paris,  aiul  went  to  the 
Cirque  de  1'Imperatrice  together;  it  was  indeed  im- 
;al — Ciiisarian  !" 

The  poor  Indian  rode  around  amid  the  plaudits  of 
the  nntl»,  hut  elicited  little  attention  from  our  party. 

"  Signorina  Roea"  was  then  announced,  "from  the 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  9 

island  of  Sardinia,  but  trained  in  England,  of  the  true 
English  school!  She  will  ride  her  thorough-bred,  pre- 
sented to  her  by  his  Majesty  Victor  Emmanuel,  during 
his  brief  visit  to  the  metropolis  of  London  !  She  has 
won  applause  and  houor  wherever  she  has  ridden, 
and  the  diamond  which  she  wears  on  the  forefinger  of  her 
right  hand  is  a  gift  from  her  royal  M  tjesty  Victoria !" 

"Hallo!"  said  Mr.  Elliot,  •'  that  is  an  advertisement 
for  you,  Phillips!  You  always  had  a  liking  for  pretty 
equestriennes  !  " 

"Ah,  yes,  I  grant  you — in  Paris,"  said  Phillips;  "  but 
it  is  different  here,  you  know  1"  The  music  for  a  season 
ceased,  and  the  clown  rehearsed  some  of  his  stereotyped 
jokes.  Presently  the  music  began  again;  there  was  a 
little  bustle  among  the  ushers,  and  then  a  beautiful 
black  horse  trotted  proudly  into  the  circle.  "How 
splendid!  grand!  magnificent!"  rose  in  chorus  from 
the  crowd.  Just  -after  it,  ran  in  La  Signorina  Eosa. 
She  was  dressed  in  rose-colored  silk,  looped  over  a 
white  ruffled  muslin,  caught  up  with  large  French 
roses;  there  was  a  rose  in  the  corsage  of  hor  divss, 
another  fastened  in  the  broad  bands  of  her  hair,  rolled 
simply  about  her  delicately  shaped  head.  She  kissed  her 
hand  to  the  spectators  with  a  nonchalant  air,  and  half 
disdaining  the  proffered  help  of  the  usher,  sprang  upon 
the  horse.  She  walked  him  slowly  round  the  circle,  and 
then  leaptd  to  her  feet.  There  was  a  quick  murmur  of 
applaud?. 

"By  Jove,"  cried  Mr.  Phillips,  "she  is  a  beauty  in- 
deed !'" 

"  She  is  hard  to  match,  I  fancy,  Mr.  Phillips,  in  any 
of  your  foreign  cities!"  said  Mr.  Elliot. 
1* 


10  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

Mrs.  Elliot  flushed  to  her  temples. 

The  Signorina  Rosa  held  a  rose-colored  scarf,  which 
floated  like  a  rainbow  above  her. 

Resting  on  one  foot,  she  stood  for  some  momenta 
poised  in  an  attitude  of  exquisite  grace ;  then  dropping 
the  reins,  and  crossing  her  feet,  she  rode  standing,  with 
folded  arms;  then  dropped  into  the  saddle  and  walked 
her  horse.  As  she  passed  our  little  coterie,  they  had 
time  to  scan  her  face  and  form.  She  was  rather  petite, 
her  nose  was  delicate,  her  eyes  dark  and  flashing,  her 
head  very  small  and  beautifully  set  on  her  shoulders, 
her  eyebrows  were  penciled ;  under  her  eyes  were  dark 
lines,  so  deeply  marked  that  they  might  have  been 
painted. 

Mary  turned  to  Cecilia,  and  said  in  a  whisper,  "  Do 
you  see  the  ring,  how  it  sparkles?  I  wonder  if  Victoria 
really  gave  it  her.  It  looks  as  if  it  might  be  the  gift  of 
a  queen." 

Just  at  this  moment  the  clown  came  over  to  where 
the  young  girl's  horse  was  standing. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  our  pretty  Miss?"  he  said. 
"Is  our  Rose  tumbling  to  pieces  ?  Oh,  its  foot!"  for 
she  pointed  to  it.  "Does  it  hurt  it?"  "While  he  said 
this,  he  touched  her  foot  with  his  hand,  and  our  party 
saw  a  look  of  rage  flash  out  of  her  eyes  as  she  drew  it 
quickly  away.  With  a  quick  jerk  at  the  bridle,  she 
made  her  horse  rear.  "Bruno,  Bruno,"  she  said,  in  a 
low  voice,  "steady!"  The  animal  stood  quite  still 
again.  She  rode  slowly  round  the  circle  while  the  men 
were  stretching  across  part  of  the  ring  some  broad  ban- 
ners. Wrhen  she  saw  these  were  ready,  she  made  an  im- 
perious sign  with  her  hand,  leaped  to  her  feet,  and,  in  a 


THE    ITALIAN   GIRL.  11 

moment  more,  at  the  first  round  had  cleared  all  four  of 
them. 

"Brava!"  shouted  Mr.  Phillips,  laying  special  stress 
on  the  "va."  The  young  girl  turned  her  face  and  gave 
him  a  most  radiant  smile;  it  was  not  a  conventional 
circus-smile,  but  seemed  to  light  her  face  all  over,  which 
before  had  looked  dark,  almost  Moorish.  At  the  same 
instant  her  eye  fell  on  the  pale,  earnest  face  of  a  young 
man  who  sat  near  our  friends.  He  was  leaning  forward 
watching  her  motions  eagerly.  She  colored ;  then  she 
smiled  again ;  she  bent  down  over  Bruno,  patted  him, 
and  jumping  lightly  to  the  ground,  courtesied  low,  turn- 
ing scornfully  from  the  clown's  extended  hand.  There 
was  an  intermission  of  ten  minutes,  to  be  followed  by 
some  gymnastic  exercises ;  the  Greek  acrobat ;  a  tour  de 
force  by  the  celebrated  Monsieur  Auguste  Legrand,  and 
then  "  the  Signorina  Eosa  would  exhibit  her  horse 
Bruno,  trained  by  herself  with  all  her  native  grace ! " 

"  Let  us  go  and  smoke,"  said  Mr.  Phillips;  "do  not 
look  so  sentimental,  Livingstone,  about  that  girl!  I 
don't  believe  she  is  worth  wasting  that  sort  of  thing  on. 
She's  devilish  pretty,  though.  "Will  you  join  us  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Livingstone,  with  a  smile. 
"  I  think  I  will  stay  and  protect  the  ladies." 

Elliot  and  Phillips  disappeared  through  an  opening 
in  the  tent,  where  Mrs.  Elliot's  eyes  followed  them  with 
intense  interest. 

"Dear  Henry,"  she  said,  turning  to  her  sister  Mary, 
"  he  is  so  good,  so  true ;  he  would  scarcely  look  at  that 
girl — only  he  humors  Mr.  Phillips  in  his  follies.  She  is 
pretty,  poor  thing!  and  she  looks  something  higher 
than  her  profession;  it  would  be  quite  interesting  to 


12  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

study  their  lives  more  nearly.  Just  think,  my  dear !" 
she  added,  shuddering,  "  of  being  always  thrown  among 
those  coarse,  common  creatures ! " 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Brandon,  who  had  listened  to  the 
last  part  of  her  sentence,  "of  course  the  more  exquisite 
fibres  of  their  natures  are  quite  crystallized  ;  they  have 
no  ambient  like  ours  to  move  in  ;  she  enters  a  butterfly, 
but  she  comes  out  a  worm.  There  is  Mrs.  Peter  Mott ! 
how  very  splendid  she  looks !  One  sees  the  queen  of 
society  in  her  every  attitude.  She  is  grand,  lustrous !  " 

Cecilia  turned  her  glass  where  she  saw  Mrs.  Brandon 
bowing  with  a  patronizing  air,  and  beheld  Mrs.  Mott 
"I  think  she  looks  very  coarse,"  said  Cecilia,  "and, 
after  all,  she  plays  rather  a  low  part  in  the  world.  If 
that  little  Signorina  Rosa  were  in  her  place,  she  wou/d 
appear  infinitely  more  lady-like  !  What  has  Mrs.  Mott 
grasped  at  but  a  position  in  fashionable  society? 
Everybody  frequents  her  drawing-room,  it  is  true,  but 
everybody  laughs  at  her.  The  price  she  has  paid  is  her 
dignity  and  self-respect,  and  her  meed  is  c>  Id  contempt. 
Her  money  has  gilded  her  position,  but  has  deluded  no 
one." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Mrs.  Brandon; 
"she  has  conquered  her  place  by  the  force  of  her  in- 
tellect. She  married  a  man  who  must  have  been  de- 
testable from  the  beginning  to  one  of  her  grand  nature  I " 

"Why  diff  she  marry  him,  then?"  asked  Cecilia, 
quietly. 

"  With  her  beauty,"  continued  Mrs   Brandon,  "and 

her  personal  gifts  and  advantages*  mon<iy  was  a  neces- 

.     I  asked  her  one  day  how  she  had  escaped  the 

play  of  the  passions,  with  her  splendid  nature,  and  she 


THE    ITALIAN   GIRL.  13 

burst  into  tears,  and  said,  *  Sophronia,  that  opens  a 
new  chapter  in  my  life.' " 

"  I  know  nothing  of  the  passions,"  said  Cecilia,  with 
a  cold  smile,  "  and  they  have  little  interest  for  me." 

"  There,"  sa;d  Mrs.  Brandon,  "  is  Mrs.  Lawrence, 
too  ;  one  meets  all  the  elite  here.  I  believe  I  will  tell 
her  not  to  powder  so  much.  I  have  been  so  kind  to  her 
that  she  will  listen  to  me." 

Cecilia  secretly  marveled  what  need  Mrs.  Lawrence 
had  of  Mrs.  Brandon's  kiudnes?,  being  herself  wealthier 
than  the  latter,  and  in  quite  as  fashionable  a  circle. 

"  Why,  here  is  Henry  behind  us,"  she  said,  her  face 
beaming  with  a  smile  of  welcome,  "  how  long  have  you 
been  there  ?  " 

"  How  like  Mr.  Livingstone  is  to  Hamlet  in  his  ap- 
pearance," said  Mrs.  Brandon;  "  he  seems  to  me  the 
embodiment  of  his  soliloquy;  but,  perhaps,  these  are 
but  'the  trappings  and  the  suits  of  woe.'  "What  a 
sweet  girl  he  is  talking  with ;  Miss  Alcott,  is  it  not  ? 
quite  a  histrionic  face.  Our  ambassador  at  London 
wrote  me  the  other  day;  his  account  of  the  English 
girls  was  quite  amusing.  He  says  they  all  look  like  so 
many  cherries  on  one  stalk." 

"  That  is  well  done,"  said  Mr.-  Elliot,  as  he  watched 
the  tour  de  force  of  Monsieur  Auguste.  "  I  will  tell 
Hamlet  to  applaud ;  he  may  call  that  '  a  hit,  a  palpable 
hit!'" 

"How  delightful  your  husband  is,  Mrs.  Elliot,  so 
full  of  wit;  it  is  not  feu  $  artifice,  brilliancy,  but  true 
coruscations  of  light.  It  must  be  delightful  to  live 
with  him  ?  " 

"It  is,"  said  Cecilia,  "  for  he  is  good  as  he  is  clever." 


14  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"A  gentleman  told  me  the  other  day,"  said  Mrs. 
Brandon,  "  that  he  thought  he  had  a  very  encyclopaedic 
mind!" 

"Oh,  isn't  she  sweet?"  exclaimed  Miss  Alcott,  who 
was  seated  by  our  Hamlet.  The  music  had  begun  to 
play  again,  and  Signorina  Rosa  had  just  entered, 
mounted  a  TAmazone.  She  wore  a  long  black  velvet 
habit,  a  black  hat  like  a  man's,  white  gauntlets,  a  little 
blue  cravat;  on  her  skirt  was  embroidered  a  large  cross 
of  Savoy,  in  blue  and  gold.  Her  seat  was  perfect ;  she 
seemed  to  have  grown  tall  during  her  brief  absence,  so 
delicate  yet  so  commanding  was  her  figure,  as  she 
swayed  gracefully  to  and  fro  with  the  different  paces  of 
her  horse.  She  passed  our  corner  of  the  circus,  where 
every  eye  was  intent  upon  her,  and  raised  her  lids  just 
once  as  she  came  opposite  Mr.  Livingstone ;  it  was  not 
a  bold  glance,  but  a  mixture  of  daring  and  coquetry. 
She  encountered  the  same  earnest  gaze  as  before. 

"Do  you  see,"  said  a  gentleman  who  sat  near  them, 
in  an  audible  voice,  "she  wears  the  emblem  of  the 
house  of  Savoy  ?  That  horse  may  be  a  keepsake  from 
Victor  Emmanuel!  He  has  a  new  lady-love  every  day, 
and  very  likely  she  has  shared  that  honor  with  others." 

Eosa heard  him;  her  face  flushed  almost  purple. 

"  It  is  false !"  she  said,  in  a  low,  clear  undertone'.  Her 
short  upper  lip  curled  as  she  spoke,  while  on  the  under 
lip  her  small  teeth  closed  sternly  down.  A  sharp  pull 
at  her  rein,  and  Bruno's  nostrils  diluted  ;  he  made  one 
plunge — then  reared  !  She  held  him  for  a  moment  in 
that  posture,  and  bent  her  head  with  a  glance  of  triumph 
toward  Mr.  Livingstone. 

"  She  favors  you,  Livingstone,''  said  Mr.  Phillips,  sotto 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  15 

voce,  "  women  both  in  high  and  low  life  are  taken  with 
those  pale  faces.  They  suggest  a  good  deal  more  than 
their  owners  mean — the  deuce  take  them/' 

Some  bars  were  brought  in. 

"  Hallo!  what's  the  girl  going  to  do  ?  Leap  them,  by 
Jove.  That  will  be  a  good  leap ;  why,  I  should  say  they 
were  six  feet  high." 

"No,  not  more  than  four  and  a  half,"  said  Mr.  Elliot; 
"  but  she  hasn't  room  for  a  long  swing  before  she  comes 
up  to  them ! " 

Rosa  raised  her  finger  slightly,  and  the  music  struck 
up ;  the  horse  looked  restive. 

"Bet,"  said  Mr.  Phillips,  "what  will  yon  bet  she 
clears  them  ?  " 

"I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  betting,"  said  Mr.  Living- 
stone, "  but  I  don't  mind  backing  her  fora  hundred'dol- 
lars."  Rosa  was  walking  her  horse  near  them,  and  heard 
the  conversation. 

"I  take  it,"  said  Phillips. 

She  put  her  horse  to  a  quick  trot,  and  touching  him 
lightly  with  the  whip,  "Up,  Bruno!  up!"  Her  voice 
rang  sharp  and  clear,  and  in  a  moment  she  had  cleared 
both  the  bars. 

"By  Jove,  well  done!"  said  Mr.  Phillips.  "I  don't 
regret  the  money,  Livingstone." 

Rosa  was  just  then  passing;  she  looked  up  triumph- 
antly, and  smiled. 

"  Good  Bruno,  my  Bruno ! "  she  said,  patting  the 
horse's  neck.  "Once  more,  and  then  good  night ! " 

She  drew  in  her  horse  till  he  reared  again.  T  wice 
she  made  him  leap;  then,  bowing,  trotted  him  out  of 
the  ring. 


16  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

"There  is  nothing  more  worth  seeing  here  ;  let  ns  go 
to  the  menagerie,"  said  Mr.  Phillips.  There  was  a 
crowd  behind  them  and  in  front,  and  they  could  not 
pass. 

"  This  way,  ladies,"  said  the  usher.  "  If  you  will  go 
round  by  the  stables,  you  will  find  it  easy  to  reach  the 
other  tent." 

•  "  Thank  you,"  said  Cecilia.  Passing  round  toward 
the  rear  of  the  tents,  they  found  Kosa  standing  near  one 
of  the  stalls  and  quite  unmindful  of  their  approach.  She 
was  stooping  toward  her  horse  and  kissing  him  on  his 
nose.  They  stopped  to  watch  her.  The  clown  was 
beside  her ;  he  placed  his  arm  round  her  waist,  anil  they 
heard  him  say, 

"  It's  a  pity,  Miss  Eosa,  to  waste  your  kisses  on  a 
horse ;  kiss  me  instead  !  " 

She  turned  on  him,  her  face  almost  black  with  rage, 
and  raising  her  whip: 

"  Take  your  hands  off  me,  you  low-born  clown  !  you 
painted  idiot!  you  ugly  devil!  go  away,  or  I  will  horse- 
whip you!" 

"  Splendid  !"  said  Mr.  Phillips,  but  she  did  not  hear 
or  see  him.  Our  party  passed  on. 

"Oh!"  said  Cecilia,  "I  pity  her.  How  disgusting 
that  man  looked  !  " 

"She  is  too  sweet  for  anything,"  said  Miss  Alcott, 
who  had  Mr.  Livirgst one's  arm. 

"Sweet  is  not  precisely  the  word,"  he  said,  smiling; 
"she  seems  a  spirited  creature,  far  above  her  surround- 
ings certainly.  It  made  one  really  sad  to  see  her  there, 
with  no  one  to  protect  her." 

"  Strong  in  innocence  as  in  triple  mail ! "  said  Mrs. 


THE   ITALIAN  .GIRL.  17 

Brandon,  sweeping  by  loftily  with  a  toss  of  the  head. 
"Let  us  look  at  this  splendid  creature  from  the  African 
soil.  He  is  as  dusky  as  his  desert  airs,  and  would  crush 
out  our  souls  with  one  tramp  of  his  mighty  foot." 

"  Who  feeds  them  ?  "  said  Cecilia,  turning  to  one  of 
the  keepers. 

"I  do,"  answered  a  dapper  youth,  with  a  cheerful, 
glowing  countenance.  "  Mr.  Ciuizelli  hain't  nothing  to 
do  with  it ;  oh,  no,  not  he,"  he  continued,  with  a  gratu- 
latory  chuckle  in  his  throat.  "  He  conducts  the  business 
like  a  gentleman  Where  other  nif-n  has  one  turn-out, 
he  has  four.  Oh,  yes,  he  has  the  finest  carriage  in  New 
York." 

"  Is  he  married  ?  "  asked  Miss  Alcott,  laughing. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  the  youth. 

"Does  Madame  Cinizelli  ride  in  the  ring  ?  " 

"No,  indeed,  not  she;  she  ain't  one  of  that  kind. 
She  wouldn't  ride  in  the  ring  for  thousands.  She's  still 
and  quiet,  and  don't  speak  to  no  one,  unless  they  speak 
to  her." 

"  Proud  and  naughty,"  suggested  Phillips. 

"  Oh,  no,  she  ain't  neither,"  he  answered,  with  the 
same  animated  chuckle. 

"  Do  you  like  this  business  ?  " 

"Yes,  better  than  anything  in  the  world;  oh,  yes! 
I  takes  care  of  the  animals  in  winter,  and  in  summer  I 
drives  out  the  ladies.  That's  the  cage  for  the  giraffe ! 
but  there  ain't  no  giraffe — oh,  no!  There  come  out  one, 
and  they  took  him  in  the  wessel;  they  put  in  leaves, 
those  sort  of  leaves  the  giraffe  feeds  on,  you  know." 

"  The  mimosa,"  suggested  Mrs.  Brandon. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  what  you  call  'em,  but  they  got 


18  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

sort  of  stale,  and  he  died.  Well,  what  did  Mr.  Cinizclli 
say  when  he  heard  he  was  dead?  Well,  he  said  just 
nothing !  '  What* s  eight  thousand  to  me  ? '  He  don't 
think  nothing  of  eight  thousand — oh  no,  not  he!"  with 
the  same  approving  laugh  as  he  enumerated  the  proofs 
of  Cinizelli's  recklessness  in  respect  of  the  base  metal. 
"  We  had  one  giraffe  up  to  Ornaha,  that's  a  long  way 
beyond  Chicago — yes,  Omaha!  Well,'  he  died,  too. 
Miss  Rosa  used  to  go  in,  and  I  seen  her  wiping  off  the 
leaves  when  she  fed  him,  so  as  they  might  be  quite 
clean  ;  the  cage  was  padded,  eo  as  not  to  let  in  a  breath 
of  air,  but  he  couldn't  stand  the  climate,  so  we  put 
something  on  him  when  he  was  dead,  that  he  might  not 
smell,  and  I  took  him  on  to  Philadelphia;  but  his 
bones  came  through — oh,  yes — and  so  he  wasn't  of  no 
use,  oh  no  !  Now,  Mr.  Cinizelli  says,  well,  he  says,  if 
he  had  a  giraffe  give  him  for  fifty  dollars,  he  wouldn't 
take  it.  It  makes  me  feel  sort  of  bad,  you  know,  be- 
cause the  people  comes  in,  and  they  looks  at  the  cage, 
and  they  says,  'What's  that  for?'  and  I  says,  'For  the 
giraffe,  but  he  died  on  the  wessel,'  and  then  they  sort 
of  laughs.  They  think  I'm  lying,  oh,  yes  !  Miss  Rosa 
— she  cried  when  they  took  away  the  giraffe  up  to 
Omaha ;  but  I  can't  say  nothing.  I  can't  tell  you  any 
of  these  things." 

"  Is  Miss  Rosa  a  good  girl  ?"  inquired  Miss  Alcoti, 
much  interested  in  the  youth's  lively  discourse. 

"  Well,  now,  I  should  think  she  was,"  he  said, 
chuckling  again.  "Oh,  my  eye!  if  she  ain't  mad 
sometimes.  We  ain't  afraid  of  her  much,  oh,  no!  but 
I  think  Mr.  Cinizelli  is.  She  makes  him  stand  around, 
and  he  says  she's  got  too  big  ideas  for  that  small  ring 


THE    ITALIAN   GIRL.  19 

she  rides  in ;  she  struck  the  keeper  of  the  elephant  over 
his  face  once,  didn't  she  ?  oh,  yes ! " 

"Why  did  she  do  that?" 

"  Served  him  right ;  he  made  love  to  her.  But  she 
always  spoke  sort  of  kind  to  me.  She's  made  Mr. 
Cinizelli  an  awful  lot  of  trouble — oh,  yes !  There's 
always  young  men  hanging  around  since  she  came,  and 
she  tells  him  to  shove  'em  off;  but  he  says  he  can't  do  it, 
it  ain't  no  easy  job !  " 

"  Good-night,"  said  Miss  Alcott. 

"  Good-night,"  answered  the  youth,  in  his  cheery 
voice. 

"  Oh,"  said  Miss  Alcott,  "  how  sad  it  is  to  see  that 
poor  hyena  always  rattling  his  chain !  I  should  think 
it  would  make  Mrs.  Cinizelli  nervous  enough,  if  she  ever 
came  here  to  see  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  Livingstone,  "  it  seems  like  one  of 
Dante's  fearful  representations  ;  a  conscience  loaded 
with  the  vices  of  earth,  and  finding  no  rest  from  endless 
remorse." 

"That  young  keeper,"  said  Cecilia,  "shows  a,U  the 
enthusiasm  for  Miss  Rosa  of  a  youthful  Mortrjter  for 
Mary  Queen  of  Scots." 

"  Chastelard,  you  mean,  my  dear;  that  is  hei  modern 
admirer." 

"Oh,  Henry,  dear!  how  can  you  say  such  dreadful 
things  ?  "  said  Cecilia. 

"  Her  type  is  Andulusian,"  said  Mrs.  Brandon. 

"  Whose— Mrs.  Cinizelli's?  " 

"No;  the  young  girl's  who  rode." 

"  She  has  a  Cashmerian  look,"  said  Cecilia. 

"  She  has  certainly  the  finest  ankle,  the  prettiest  foot, 


20  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

and  the  whitest  hand,  for  so  dark  a  person,  I  vor  saw/'' 
said  Mr.  Phillips.  "  Let  us  come  again  lo-morrow 
night,  Elliot  1  and  you,  Livingstone,  will  you  complete 
the  trio?" 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Livingstone. 

"Henry,  you  will  not  be  so  foolish?"  whispered 
Cecilia. 

"No;  of  course  not,  my  dear." 

"While  the  party  which  had  just  left  the  circus  was 
discussing  the  Signorina,  where  was  she  ?  She  had 
retired  for  the  night,  in  a  room  on  the  third  story  of  a 
boarding-house  in  the  Third  avenue.  There  she  sat  on 
a  little  cot  bed,  her  eyes  red  with  weeping. 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  bear  it,"  she  murmured,  "  the  nasty, 
gross  man!  I  will  kill  him,  if  he  touches  me  again!" 
and  she  bit  her  lip  with  her  pretty  white  teeth  until 
the  blood  came.  "  Oh,  why  was  I  not  born  rich,  like 
those  great  ladies  who  come  to  stare  and  laugh  at  me. 
They  would  scorn  to  take  my  hand,  and  yet  it  is  as  small 
as  theirs,  and  has  done  no  menial , work,1"  and  she  looked 
down  at  her  little  hand  that  was  doubled  up  half  in 
menace,  "and  I'm  sure  it  is  as  innocent!  I  should  like 
to  run  away  and  hide,  to  spite  old  Cinizelli,  and  I  will, 
too!"  she  cried,  her  breath  coming  quicker.  "Yes,  I 
will  play  them  all  some  trick  yet.  It  would  do  me  good 
to  wound  them  all !  But  then,"  she  paused  suddenly, 
"how  could  I  send  her  money?  and  she  depends  upon 
me  for  her  livelihood;  and  although  she  brought  me 
into  a  world  of  misery,  yet  I  must  help  her  to  live — she 
is  still  my  mother.  My  God!  "  she  said,  lifting  her 
to  heaven — "  I  do  not  believe  there  is  a  God,  or  he 
would  not  leave  me  to  such  a  terrible  life.  I  hate  it,  I 


THE    ITALIAN   GIRL.  21 

hate  the  men,  I  hate  everybody — all  but  Bruno.  I  love 
Bruuo  better  than  anything  on  earth.  But  that  man 
said  that  the  king — oh,"  she  continued,  while  the  blood 
mounted  to  her  brow,  "they  all  lie!  they  lie!  and  love 
to  spit  upon  me,  because  I  am  a  poor  girl.  I  do  not 
believe  they  could  do  what  I  do,  or  resist  what  I  resist. 
Oh,  I  am  so  wretched!"  and  she  flung  herself  down  on 
the  bed,  and  at  last  cried  herself  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  II. 

HE  next  morning,  when  Rosa  woke  from  her 
troubled  sleep,  she  found  it  was  already  late. 
She  rubbed  her  eyes.  Was  there  not  to  be 
a  special  rehearsal  that  day  for  a  cotillion  of 
horses,  to  be  introduced  the  next  week  ?  She  undressed 
hastily  (for  she  had  thrown  herself  on  the  bed  in  the 
dress  she  had  worn  home),  and  pouring  water  into  a 
large  tub,  prepared  herself  for  her  bath ;  it  was  the  one 
luxury  she  insisted  on.  While  she  was  thus  occupiedj 
she  heard  a  rap. 

"  Who's  there  ?  "  she  called  out,  drawing  instinctively 
her  gown  tighter  about  her. 

"  It's  me,  Miss  Rosa !  " 

"  Go  away  immediately ! "  she  said,  angrily,  raising  her 
voice,  "I  cannot  see  you!" 

"  But  I  have  got  to  speak  to  you,  Miss  Rosa ;  and  it's 
a  message  from  Mrs.  Cinizelli,  and  she  wants  you  to 
drive  out  with  her  at  one  o'clock ;  and  there's  a  bunch  of 
roses  a  young  gentleman  gave  me  for  you ! " 

"Leave  them  before  the  door,  and  go  away!  Tell 
Madame  Cinizelli  I  accept  her  kindness  with  grati- 
tude." 

"  I  have  put  them  on  the  mat,  Miss  Rosa ! n 

"Go  away,  I  say!"  She  listened  to  his  retreating 
steps,  and  then  moved  on-tip-toe  to  the  door,  and,  open- 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  23 

ing  it  noiselessly,  peeped  out;  but,  just  as  she  stooped 
down  to  take  up  the  roses,  she  saw  the  clown's  head 
disappearing  down  the  stairs. 

"  The  fool ! "  she  muttered,  and  slammed  to  the  door. 
"  It  was  kind  of  him,  though,  to  bring  me  the  flowers ! " 

"  Oh,  how  sweet  these  roses  smell,"  she  said,  crushing 
them  up  to  her  little  nose ;  "  they  tell  of  a  fresher  and 
brighter  life!  How  I  should  like  to  be  a  rose,  and 
exhale  my  fragrance  on  the  breast  of  some  beautiful 
belle;  yes,  just  as  her  lover  was  telling  her  his  secret, 
I  would  shed  out  all  my  sweetness,  and  die  with  a  tale 
of  true  love  in  my  ear !  or  I  would  bloom  in  the  country ; 
the  breeze  would  caress  my  leaves  ;  the  birds  drink  the 
dew  from  my  chalice ;  and  the  golden  butterflies  pay 
their  court  to  me.  - 1  should  be  born  in  the  morning, 
and  at  night  I  shduld  have  passed  away,  but  I  should 
have  known  one  long  day  of  happiness,  and  at  least  I 
should  have  been  the  equal  of  all  the  other  roses." 

She  continued  her  toilette,  still  talking  to  herself.  At 
length,  putting  on  a  plain  dress  of  black  silk,  and  a 
little  round  hat,  she  went  down  stairs  to  her  breakfast.  It 
was  a  frugal  meal — two  eggs,  a  piece  of  bread,  and  a  cup 
of  tea.  Then  she  hurried  out.  As  she  drew  near  the 
corner,  a  man  came  forward,  and  liftiu  g  his  hat  respect- 
fully, said — 

"  May  I  not  have  the  honor  of  accompanying  you  ?" 

He  was  dressed  with  elegance,  and  had  the  air  of  a 
finished  gentleman.  Now,  Eosa  was  alone  in  the  world, 
and  had  no  one  to  take  care  of  her;  looking  up,  she 
scanned  his  features  gravely — then  smiled,  and  said : 

"I  do  not  think  that  you  mean  to  be  impertinent.  I 
am  so  lonely  among  all  these  people,  that — perhaps  I 


24  THE    ITALIAN  GIRL. 

am  imprudent — I  feel  almost  grateful  for  the  privilege 
of  speaking  to  one  who  looks  like  a  real  gentleman  !  I 
saw  you  last  night  at  our  circus — I  noticed  all  of  yon  1 
Indeed,  I  see  everything  even  in  that  great  crowd,  and 
I  eeem  to  hear  everything,  too." 

She  spoke  with  such  simplicity,  and  looked  up  in  his 
face  so  earnestly,  that  for  a  moment  his  coarser  nature 
was  silenced,  and  he  replied,  quietly: 

"I  must  introduce  myself  to  you — my,  name  is  Phil- 
lips.* You  ride  beautifully;  I  have  never  seen  any  one 
I  admired  so  much  on  horseback.  Your  horse  is  mag- 
nificent." 

"  Is  he  not  beautiful  ?  "  she  said,  her  face  kindling. 

"I  am  told  he  is  your  own,"  he  continued.  "I  have 
been  talking  with  Mr.  Cinizelli  this  morning.  I  was 
waiting  with  impatience  to  see  you.  lie  pays  that  there 
are  other  horses  you  exhibit  in  similar  feats,  that  are 
quite  as  well  trained.  Now,  I  want  to  make  you  an 
offer:  I  will  give  you  five  thousand  dollars  in  gold  for 
that  horse— Bruno,  I  think  you  call  him  ?  " 

"My  horse!  my  beautiful  Bruno!"  she  cried,  all  the 
color  leaving  her  cheek  ;  "  why,  sir,  I  love  Bruno  better 
than  anything  in  life!  He  is  all  I  have  to  love,  and  he 
loves  me  as  dearly;  he  is  my  only  friend!"  The 
;it  tears  stood  in  her  eyes,  "  No,  not  if  you  were  to 
offer  me  all  the  world,  would  I  part  with  Bruno." 

They  walked  on  in  silence;  then  he  said: 

"  Perhaps  you  will  think  better  of  my  offer,  when  you 
have  reflected  on  it  over  night.  I  wished  to  ask  you, 
also,  if  you  would  not  do  rne  the  favor  to  dine  with  me 
and  two  friends  of  mine.  As  I  see  your  name  is  not  on 
the  bill  for  to-morrow,  will  you  not  favor  us  to-morrow 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  25 

evening?  We  will  call  for  you  with  a  carriage,  and  go 
to  Delmonico's." 

The  young  girl's  face  brightened  again. 

"  I  should  like  it  of  all  things.  I  am  snre  you  will 
not  bring  any  rude  men.  Because  I  ride  in  a  circus, 
people  seem  to  think  that  I  have  no  soul." 

They  had  now  reached  the  entrance  to  the  circus. 

"  I  will  show  you  a  fine  horse,  one  belonging  to  Mr. 
Cinizelli,"  she  paid,  as  they  entered  the  door.  "I  dare 
suy  you  will  like  Irm  better  than  Bruno;  he  is  just  as 
well  trained — I  taught  him  myself." 

"  Yes,  but  to  me  Bruno  has  the  advantage  of  being 
your  friend." 

Kosa  smiled,  colored  slightly,  and  shook  her  head. 

"You  cannot  have  Bruno,"  she  said. 

As  they  entered,  they  saw  Mr.  Cinizelli  standing  near 
the  stalls.  He  touched  his  hat  to  the  Signorina,  and 
said  in  French : 

"  You  are  late ;  we  want  you  to  practice  the  cotil- 
lion." 

"  I  will  only  try  it  on  Bruno,"  she  answered,  in  the 
same  tongue. 

"  Well,  he  is  saddled — spring  up!" 

While  Mr.  Cinizelli  was  showing  the  good  points  of 
his  horse,  Rosa  retired  to  a  small  inclosure  that  did 
duty  for  a  green-room.  As  she  stepped  out  from  under 
the  curtain,  which  divided  it  from  the  rest  of  the  tent, 
there  stood  the  clown,  with  a  most  piteous  face.  He 
looked  so  wretched  that  Rosa  felt  a  twinge  of  pity.  She 
stopped  and  said : 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  George  ?  " 

There  was  a  note  of  sympathy  in  her  voice  that  the 
2 


26  THE    ITALIAN  GIRL. 

poor  clown  had  never  heard  before,  and  he  looked  at  her 
beseechingly,  as  he  said : 

"  Oh,  Miss  Rosa,  do  stop  one  minute  ;  the  gentleman 
is  talking  about  the  horses,  and  he  won't  mind  1  Do, 
Miss  Rosa,  stay  here  for  one  moment !  I  shall  go  mad,  if 
you  don't  listen  to  me.  These  young  men  ought  not  to 
be  coming  around  you ;  they  don't  mean  any  good." 

"That  is  my  affair,"  said  she,  haughtily,  and  waved 
her  hand,  as  if  bidding  him  let  her  pass,  but  he  caught 
her  by  her  skirt,  and  said  in  a  voice  of  agony, 

"Oh,  Miss  Rosa!" 

There  was  something  so  comic  in  the  clown's  face  at 
this  moment,  divested  as  it  was  of  its  brighter  splashes 
of  color,  with  only  two  dark  lines  drawn  down  from  the 
corners  of  his  mouth,  and  black  eyebrows  meeting  in  a 
point  above,  like  a  thatched  gable,  that  Rosa  burst  out 
laughing.  Her  gay  laugh  rang  for  a  minute  through  the 
tent,  and  attracted  Mr.  Phillips'  ear.  He  moved  toward 
the  sound,  and,  still  hidden  behind  some  projecting 
canvas,  paused  to  listen.  'Twas  a  pleasant  thing  to 
hear  the  young  girl's  laugh — so  silver  and  clear,  you 
would  not  have  believed  the  heart  it  pealed  from  had 
ever  known  a  sorrow;  but  it  did  not  cease  naturally ; 
it  broke  off  abruptly  in  the  middle  of  a  note,  like  a 
music-box  that  had  run  down  without  completing  its 
tune. 

"  Miss  Rosa,"  said  the  clown,  in  imploring  tones, 
"  don't  laugh  ;  it  makes  me  sad !  All  day  and  all  night 
I  have  to  play  the  fool,  and  pretend  to  be  gayer  than 
other  folks,  when  my  heart  is  breaking  !  You  know  I 
worship  you,  Miss  Rosy!  I  would  give  my  life  to  marry 
you!  I  haven't  got  much  worldly  goods — only  this  cap 


THE    ITALIAN  GIRL.  27 

and  bells— but  I'll  work  for  you,  and  take  you  out  of 
this  mean  place,  and,  if  I  could,  I'd  put  you  on  a  throne, 
and  lie  down  before  it,  and  let  you  trample  on  me,  if 
that  would  give  you  pleasure." 

"  How  dare  you  talk  so  to  me  ? "  she  said,  angrily ; 
"how  dare  you  ask  me  to  marry  you,  you  low-born 
man  ?  Why,  what  can  you  think  of  me  ?"  she  continued, 
throwing  back  her  head  proudly.  "  My  father  was  an 
English  nobleman,  whose  stirrup  you  are  not  worthy  to 
hold  ! "  Her  nostrils  quivered.  "  Let  me  pass,  I  say,  and 
if  I  hear  you  again,  ever  again,  talk  such  audacious  non- 
sense, I  will  use  my  whip  on  you,  sir!  Yes,  I  will!" 

"  Miss  Eosy,"  said  the  poor  clown,  "  I  dare  say  .your 
father  was  noble;  one  sees  it  all  over  you;  but  your 
mother,  who  was  she  ?" 

"  Take  care,"  said  Eosa,  "  take  care.  My  mother  was — 
my  mother  was — she  was  a  Sardinian,  sir."  Her  voice 
choked,  and  she  burst  into  sobs.  "  Let  me  pass,  I  say ! " 

He  put  out  his  hand  as  if  to  detain  her.  In  a  moment 
Mr.  Phillips  was  at  her  side  and  had  struck  the  clown 
across  the  face.  The  clown  staggered,  and  before  he 
had  time  to  recover  himself,  the  voice  of  Monsieur  Cini- 
zelli  was  heard  calling  loudly, 

"  Come  along !  come,  come,  Mademoiselle !  I  cannot 
wait  any  longer  ;  I  wish  my  exercise  done.  When  I  say 
my  exercise  be  done,  all  ze  ladies  come  and  ze  wait  zis 
half  hour,  and  ze  all  wear  ze  short  skirt,  but  you  must 
have  your  airs  alway ! " 

Eosa  and  Mr.  Phillips  moved  toward  the  circle.  There 
Bruno  stood  looking  quietly  around  as  if  seeking  his 
mistress. 

"  I  am  here,  darling,"  she  whispered,  and,  placing  her 


28  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

foot  in  the  stirrup,  she  sprung  to  the  saddle.  He  tossed 
back 'his  head  as  if  proud  of  his  light  burden,  and  she 
guided  him  into  the  ring,  where  were  six  men  and  live 
women  already  mounted;  they  made  place  for  her,  and 
she  immediately  took  the  lead.  Motioning  the  music 
to  begin, — 

"  This  way,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  yes,  comme  §a!  c'est  bi^n !"  shouted  Mr.  Ciui- 
zelli.  "  Splendid  rider,  zat  girl !"  He  turned  to  Mr. 
Phillips,  "  and  good  girl,  too,  she !  she  keeps  ze  place 
for  herself." 

"If  you  speak  in  French,"  said  Mr.  Phillips  in  that 
language,  "  I  shall  understand  you  perfectly." 

"  Then  I  will  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  that  the  girl  knows 
how  to  keep  herself  straight.  She  does  not  permit  any 
familiarities;  my  wife  says  she  is  a  real  lady,  only  she 
has  such  a  temper,"  he  added,  laughing.  "When  she 
first  came  to  me,  she  was  so  young  and  pretty,  that  I 
thought  it  was  a  pity  to  let  her  go  to  the  devil,  so  I 
kept  my  eye  on  her;  but  I  soon  saw  she  did  not  ne>xl  if. 
Some  day,  if  she  gets  a  rich,  good  fellow  to  be  liberal 
to  her — why,  she  will  deserve  it,  sir !  " 

Mr.  Phillips  was  watching  the  701111?  girl  as  she 
glided  through  the  cotillion,  swaying  her  horce  with  au 
easy  rein;  she  never  spoke  to  her  companions,  save  to 
give  some  order,  and  that  was  done  quietly  but  im- 
periously, as  if  the  sooner  the  wo;k  was  over  the  better. 
At  length  the  exercises  were  finished,  and  she  turned 
Bruno  to  wh.>re  Mr.  Phillips  was  standing. 

"Now  I  am  free!"  she  said,  and  jumped  from  her 
horse,  just  touching  the  hand  he  oflcred  her.  "Wui: 


THE    ITALIAN   GIRL.  29 

one  moment,  Mr.  Phillips,  and  I  will  come.  Please  wait 
there." 

While  Phillips  was  talking  with  Rosa,  he  had  ob- 
served the  men  and  women  of  the  circus  winking  at  one 
another,  and  heard  now  and  then  a  burst  of  coarse 
laughter  from  the  men.  This  excited  in  him  an  earnest 
desire  to  strike  them.  Unable,  however,  to  indulge  this 
amiable  feeling,  he  turned  on  his  heel,  and  disregarding 
Rosa's  request,  walked  off  to  the  menagerie,  which  filled  a 
separate  tent.  He  was  looking  at  the  lion  when  he  heard 
a  step  behind  him — it  was  the  clown's ;  his  appearance 
was  more  hideous  than  ever,  now  that  one  of  his  eyes 
was  swollen  and  nearly  closed  by  the  blow  he  had 
received. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  clown,  "you  are  a  gentleman,  I  know, 
and  I  ain't  much;  but  I  made  an  honorable  offer  to  that 
girl,  and  that  was  as  much  as  any  gentleman  could  do. 
I  don't  want  to  touch  you  ;  not  that  I  am  afraid — I  play 
the  fool,  but  not  the  coward  !  But  if  you  mean  right 
by  her,  I  don't  want  to  hurt  you.  Perhaps  you  don't 
mean  nothing,  but  that  ain't  likely,  because  she's  too 
handsome ;  but  I  won't  have  her  wronged,  and  left  to 
misery  and  shame.  You  heard  what  she  said  about  her 
mother,  and  I  just  stepped  out  to  tell  you,  sir,  that  I 
don't  bear  you  no  malice  for  what  you  did  to  me — it  was 
all  natural  enough,  as  seeing  what  she  is,  and  what  I 
am,  to  one  of  your  sort  and  education ;  but  if  you  mean 
wrong  to  her,  gentleman  as  you  are,  I  shall  give  you  a 
blow  for  the  one  you  gave  me — that's  all!  I  shall  kill 
you,  I  don't  care  if  I  am  hanged  for  it  afterward  ;  so, 
sir.  you  look  to  what  you  do,  and  I  will  look  to  what  I 
do." 


30  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

Rosa  was  coming,  and  he  moved  away. 

"I  must  hurry;"  she  said.  "I  have  an  engagement  to 
drive  with  Madame  Cinizelli.  She  is  a  good,  gentle 
little  woman,  not  like  the  rest,  and  I  like  her — she  is  kind 
to  me." 

Mr.  Phillips  walked  with  her  to  the  door,  and  lifting 
his  hat, — 

"  To-morrow,  then,  at  six  o'clock,"  he  said,  "  I  shall 
have  the  pleasure  of  calling  for  you!" 

"To-morrow,  then,"  she  answered,  smiling,  and  ran 
in. 

That  evening,  when  Rosa  rode,  she  saw  Mr.  Phillips 
in  the  front  row,  but  she  saw,  also,  a  pair  of  dark  eyes 
directed  on  her  from  another  quarter  of  the  house, 
quite  hidden  from  Mr.  Phillips'  view.  Rosa  smiled  at 
them  once  as  she  rode  by  that  corner  of  the  ring. 

The  clown  was  not  himself  that  evening.  Rosa's 
heart  smote  her  when  she  saw  him  so  depressed,  yet 
forced  to  go  on  repeating  his  jokes.  These,  however, 
seemed  to  charm  the  pit  as  much  as  ever,  and  the  shrill 
voices  of  childhood  chorused  approval. 

"Jolly  fellow,  ain't  he?"  shouted  a  little  boy  with  a 
round,  hearty  laugh. 

"He  is  the  funniest  clown  I  ever  saw,"  answered  an- 
other, almost  annihilated  by  pleasure. 

Rosa  cast  a  glance  at  the  clown,  who  had  not  dared  to 
approach  her;  she  even  let  fall  her  whip,  to  give  him 
the  satisfaction  of  picking  it  up,  but  he  took  no  notice 
of  it.  She  saw  his  poor  mouth  wince  as  he  sang  his 
song ;  he  tried  to  smile,  but  looked  far  more  like  crying. 
All  this  passed  with  his  audience  as  a  proof  of  his  supe- 
rior gifts  for  comedy.  There  were  but  two  persons  who 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  31 

appreciated  his  feelings — Rosa  and*  Mr.  Phillips,  who 
had  heard  more  of  her  morning's  colloquy  with  the 
clown  than  she  supposed.  When  she  had  ceased  riding 
there  was  to  be  a  display  of  gymnastics,  and  as  the 
clown's  services  were  not  required,  he  remained  behind 
the  scenes.  Eosa  watched  her  opportunity  when  the 
rest  of  the  performers  were  peeping  through  the  curtain 
at  the  scene  within,  and  approaching  the  poor  fellow, 
who  leant  dejectedly  against  one  of  the  stalls,  paid  in  a 
low  voice : 

"  George,  I  am  sorry  I  spoke  so  roughly  to-day,  it  was 
unkind  in  me.  I  know  myself  what  pain  i?,  and  I  can- 
not bear  to  see  you  suffer;  I  am  so  sorry  that  the 
gentleman  struck  you.  I  like  you ;  you  are  good  and 
kind-hearted ;  and  yet  I  have  always  been  rudu  to  you  ; 
but  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me,  and  think  no  more 
about  it ;  all  this  evening  your  face  has  been  a  reproach 
to  me !  Do  not  talk  to  me,  or  trouble  me  again,  and 
then  I  shall  always  think  well  of  you,  and — and  " — it 
was  a  hard  thing  for  Eosa  to  say — "and  be  grateful  to 
you." 

The  man's  face  lighted;  he  forgot,  for  the  moment, 
that  he  was  a  miserable  clown,  earning  a  small  stipend 
and  a  suit  of  harlequin  clothes  for  producing  jests  of  a 
grade  low  enough  to  hit  an  ignorant  audience.  He  put 
his  hand  to  his  heart  as  if  he  were  in  pain.  In  the 
morning  Eosa  would  have  laughed,  but  now  she  felt  a 
tear  moisten  her  eye. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Miss  Eosa !  you  have  taken  such  a 
ioad  off  here ;  I  felt  as  if  I  should  suffocate  in  there,  and 
yet  I  knew  that  if  I  did  not  go  through  it  I  should  lose 
my  wages,  and  then  what  would  become  of  my  poor 


32  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

mother  ?  But  you  have  forgiven  me,  and  I  don't  mind 
anything  now ;  I'll  never  trouble  you  again.  I'll  only 
just  say  one  thing,  and  then  I'll  never  speak  again — I 
think  you're  angel,  Miss  Rosa  I" 


CHAPTER  III. 

OW  late  dear  Henry  is  to  night,"  said  Cecilia 
Elliot  to  her  sister,  the  evening  of  the  follow- 
ing day,  "  He  d:d  not  say  he  should  not  return 
to  dine.  I  hope  he  will  remember  that  we  are 
to  have  company  this  evening  ;  but  if  he  does  forget  it, 
it  will  be  because  he  is  so  pressed  with  business." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary,  petulantly,  "he  thinks  of  nothing 
but  business.  I  am  so  tired  of  this  money-making. 
What  is  the  aim  of  it  all  ? — to  lay  up  store  for  an  uncer- 
tain future.  It  seems  man's  whole  ambition  to  build  a 
tomb  of  stone  to  inter  his  soul,  while  his  wretched  body 
crawls  through  its  allotted  term  as  best  it  can.  We  are 
not  half  so  lofty  in  our  aims  as  the  old  Egyptians ;  they, 
at  least,  built  for  the  body's  preservation,  and  let  their 
souls  fly  forth,  asking  not  whither  they  went." 

"  You  are  wrong,"  said  Cecilia,  with  a  grieved  expres- 
sion, "to  talk  thus.  Money  is  a  great  power;  it  is  the 
rich  blood  that  swells  the  veins  of  our  country's  com- 
merce ;  it  lends  wings  to  civilization ;  it  fosters  art  and 
literature ;  it  gives  us  the  advantage  of  travel ;  procures 
us  luxuries,  elevates  our  tastes,  enlightens  our  minds 
and  affords  us  the  greatest  of  pleasures — generosity." 

"  Now,  Cecilia,  that  is  very  eloquent,  and  has,  I  grant, 
a  trace  of  truth,  but  I  am  sure  it  is  radically  false  !   You 
will  always  look  at  everything  through  your  own  lens. 
2* 


34  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

Just  get  a  telescope  for  once,  and  take  a  large  view  of 
life  as  it  is.  See  this  love  of  money,  like  a  great  weed, 
choking  all  wholesome  growth.  Is  there  room  in  our 
land  for  one  flower  of  genius  to  push  its  way  ?  Would 
it  not  be  trampled  under  foot  ?  Listen  to  all  the  people 
of  note  in  society ;  watch  them  when  a  stranger  comes 
to  town,  pointing  out  our  celebrities !  What  do  they 
say  ?  Is  it  such  a  one  leads  a  noble  life ;  that  man  yon- 
der has  sacrificed  his  all  for  the  poor ;  this  is  a  student ; 
the  other  a  scholar;  here  is  a  philosopher.  No,  they 
tell  you  that  this  man  is  enormously  rich !  Do  you  not 
know  him  ?  why,  he  is  the  wealthiest  person  in  our 
community.  And  there  is  Mr.  B.,  he  has  an  income  of 
two  hundred  thousand,  and  his  wife  is  the  leader  of 
fashion.*' 

"You  are  very  foolish  to  talk  in  this  way,"  said 
Cecilia;  "without  money,  what  would  become  of  all 
those  great  institutions  for  the  poor — of  St.  Luke's,  for 
instance,  or  our  Orphans'  Home  ?  Look  at  Peter  Cooper 
and  Mr.  Peabody,  what  have  they  not  done  for  the 
people  ?  Are  not  their  charities  noble  ?  " 

"  ' One  swallow  does  not  make  a  summer/"  returned 
Mary,  "and  I  repeat,  I  think  all  these  riches  have  a 
lowering  and  materializing  effect  upon  our  nation ;  she 
is  prosperous  beyond  all  countries,  I  grant  that;  she  is 
full  of  inventive  faculty,  acute,  intelligent,  but  what 
more  ?  Where  is  she  to  look  for  her  immortality  ?  " 

"  In  her  grand  principle  of  equal  rights,"  said  Cecilia 
with  emotion ;  "  in  her  love  of  freedom,  in  her  lives 
lavished  for  the  truth  when  she  wiped  out  with  the 
blood  of  her  sons  the  only  stain  on  her  shield.*' 

"Well,  that  merits  all  praise!"  said  Mary;  "that  is 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  35 

the  one  thing  I  am  proud  of.  But  noble  acta,  unless 
they  are  the  parents  and  children  of  noble  thoughts, 
have  little  value.  The  word  is  God.  In  a  great  litera- 
ture alone  can  a  nation  hope  to  live,  now  or  hereafter 
Were  this  great  city  to  disappear  to-morrow,  like  Carth- 
age, its  memory  would  perish  with  it." 

"  You  cannot  deny,"  said  Cecilia,  "  that  everybody  is 
writing  in  America;  indeed,  we  have  no  time  to  read 
half  that  merits  reading." 

"  Oh,  Cecilia,  I  know  everybody  writes,  and  tired 
enough  I  am  of  them.  That  is  just  the  fault  I  find ; 
there  seems  to  be  no  high  standard ;  people  are  too  busy 
money -getting  to  care  for  the  true — the  artistic !  If," 
she  added,  smiling  in  spite  of  herself,  "if  we  only  had 
in  this  country  what  Disraeli's  Theodora  held  to  be  the 
chief  elements  of  an  ideal  life,  '  climate  and  the  affec- 
tions!'" 

"  The  affections ! "  returned  Cecilia,  eagerly,  "  those, 
at  least,  none  can  deny  us!  They  are  warm,  strong,  en- 
during! no  blinding  flash,  no  ephemeral  blaze,  but  a 
fire  that  burns  on  slowly  and  steadily,  until  death." 

"No,  and  no  flame  either,"  said  Mary,  half  under 
her  breath.  "  I  think  your  husbands  would  love  you 
none  the  less,  and  see  much  less  to  admire  in  other 
women,  if  you  only  would  not  think  it  wrong  to  show 
your  feelings.  The  other  day,  when  you  told  Mrs. 
Brandon  that  you  knew  nothing  of  the  passions,  I  saw 
Henry  turn  away,  and  shrug  his  shoulders." 

"Henry,"  said  Cecilia,  reddening,  "agrees  with  me 
in  everything.  I  hope,  Mary,  you  will  not  say  such 
things  before  him ;  he  would  misunderstand  you,  and 
might  misjudge  you." 


36  THE    ITALIAN   GIRL. 

Mary  turned  away  to  hide  her  face,  for  it  wore  an 
expression  at  that  moment  she  would  not  have  her  sister 
see.  "  Oh,  there  is  Mr.  Leroy ! "  she  said. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Cecilia,  rising,  and  then 
she  added,  laughing  to  veil  her  real  feelings,  "  I  feel 
anxious  about  my  husband;  have  you  seen  him  any- 
where ?  We  fear  he  is  lost,  in  fact,  we  think  of  adver- 
tising for  him,  and  setting  the  police  on  his  track.  He 
never  dines  out  without  letting  me  know  where  he  is 
going,  and  now  it  is  nine  o'clock." 

"Oh,  these  husbands,"  said  Mr.  Leroy,  who  was  a 
genial  old  gentleman,  and  unaware  of  the  pain  he 
was  inflicting,  "  there  is  no  counting  on  them !  You 
see  there  are  too  many  attractions,  madam,  now-a-days. 
It  is  not  as  it  used  to  be — not  as  it  used  to  be! 
Young  men  are  flighty — led  away  by  the  first  new- 
comer." He  made  a  cheerful  hem,  and  looked  smilingly 
around,  as  if  he  ought  to  be  congratulated  on  his  apt 
remarks,  but  Cecilia  drew  herself  up,  and  thinking  him 
an  old  fool,  said,  nervously: 

"  Henry  is  not  so,  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Leroy;  he  is  not 
led  away  by  any  one." 

"  That  may  be,  madam,  that  may  be  !  there  is  attrac- 
tive metal  enough  at  home,  I  dare  say  !  I  should  be  of 
the  same  opinion  myself  in  his  place,"  and  the  old  gen- 
tleman again  laughed  cheerfully;  "  but  there  are  many 
rocks  on  which  reckless  youth  may  dash.  I  am  old,  and 
have  pome  experience,  my  dear  young  lady!" 

"How  I  hate  him  !"  thought  Cecilia,  her  color  deep- 
ening. 

"  How  do  you  do  this  evening  ?  "  said  Mrs  Brandon, 
radiant  in  green  satin,  as  she  sailed  into  the  room.  "  I 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  37 

was  detained  until  an  unusual  hour,  but  it  was  this  ap- 
palling news  kept  me  at  home." 

"  What  news  ?  "  said  Cecilia,  her  heart  bounding. 

"Is  it  possible  you  have  not  heard  of  Mr.  Lowe's 
death?" 

"  Dead ! "  said  Cecilia,  "  how  sad !  And  he  leaves  his 
widow  so  young!  Poor  thing,  how  terrible!" 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Brandon,  "that  is  not  it.  The 
woeful  part  is  that  he  leaves  her  scarcely  a  roof  over  her 
head  ;  she,  the  bright  star  in  our  horizon,  will  be  forced 
to  part  with  her  jewels,  and  to  live,  they  tell  me,  a  life 
of  squalid  penury.  I  always  had  such  tender  sympathy 
for  her.  She  was  worthy,  my  dear  Mrs.  Elliot,  to  be 
one  of  our  charmed  circle ! " 

Mary  looked  toward  Cecilia  to  see  how  she  took  this 
confirmation  of  her  words  uttered  just  before  the  entrance 
of  their  guest ;  but  Cecilia  did  not  return  her  glance. 

"  They  do  say,"  said  a  lady  in  crimson  silk,  lowering 
her  voice,  which  was  still  quite  audible,  and  drawing 
herself  up  with  self-gratulatory  dignity,  "  that  he  led  a 
very  bad  life ;  they  do  say  that  he  squandered  his  fortune 
on  an  actress.  Is  not  that  awful  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  to  be  sure,"  said  another  lady.  "  Poor  dear ! " 
and  she  dashed  away  a  furtive  tear  that  moistened  her 
spectacles. 

"  He  was  a  disagreeable  man  at  home,  cross  and  self- 
ish ;  and  I  dare  say  she  was  glad  enough  to  be  rid  of 
him  ! "  chimed  in  another  of  the  sex. 

" '  The  evil  that  men  do  lives  after  them?  "  muttered  a 
gentleman,  as  he  moved  away,  shrugging  his  shoulders 
with  some  disgust. 

"  Have  you  seen  the  latest  attraction,  Mrs.  Elliot  ?  " 


38  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

asked  a  Mr.  Langley ;  "  this  young  equestrienne,  who  is 
taking  the  town  by  storm  ?  I  heard  lately  that  Mr. 
Sands  made  her  an  offer — " 

"  Of  marriage  ?  "  interrupted  Cecilia. 

"No,"  he  replied,  smiling;  "  my  chronicler  does  not 
go  so  far  as  that!  I  was  going  to  add,  of  the  finest  pair 
in  his  stables;  but  she  refused  them.  Have  you  seen  the 
Signorina  Rosa  ?  By  the  way,  I  met  Elliot  this  after- 
noon, comingup  from  his  business,  with  Livingstone  and 
Phillips." 

'•  Did  you  ?  "  said  Cecilia,  eagerly,  "  where  were  they 
going  ?  " 

'*  I  never  ask  indiscreet  questions,"  said  Mr.  L-mgley. 

"  There  would  have  been  nothing  indiscreet  in  that," 
returned  Cecilia. 

"No,  perhaps  not;  but  Phillips  is  generally  engaged 
in  some  affair  which  is  best  kept  a  little  in  the  back- 
ground ;  pardon  me  my  indiscretion,  Mrs.  Elliot.  Last 
year,  you  remember,  his  devotion  to  Mrs.  Lecourt  gave 
rise  to  a  great  deal  of  scandal." 

"No,"  said  Cecilia,  I  never  heard  of  her;  why  should 
it  do  so  ?  She  was  a  widow,  I  presume ! " 

"Not  precisely  a  widow,"  said  Mr.  Langley,  again 
smiling,  "but  widowed  of  her  husband's  legal  affections. 
How  lovely  that  young  lady  is — there,  in  the  dove-colored 
dress! — dove-color,  is  it,  or  green?  I  have  not  a  very 
good  eye  !  Will  you  do  me  the  honor  to  present  me?" 

"She  probably  will  not  find  the  defect  in  your  eye  so 
great  as  you  pretend!  If  you  will  give  me  your  arm  I 
will  introduce  you  to  her  with  pleasure." 

Cecilia  glanced  anxiously  at  the  door;  it  was  already 
1  in  If -after  ten. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

SI"  an  elegantly  furnished  suite  of  rooms,  over 
Delmonico's,  sat  a  young  girl  and  three  gen- 
tlemen. 

"  How  pretty  this  is ! "  said  the  girl.    "  You 
do  not  mind,  Mr.  Phillips,  my  looking  at  everything  ?  " 

"Nothing  could  give  me  greater  pleasure  than  to 
know  you  were  looking  at  and  admiring  anything  I 
possessed." 

Rosa  laughed.  "  Then  I  will  examine  all  these  objects 
de  vertu  I  How  much  taste  you  have  ! — ah,  one  sees  you 
have  lived  in  Europe!  How  exquisite  this  is!"  she 
exclaimed,  her  eyes  lighting  with  pleasure,  as  she  took 
up  a  small  Venus  de  Medici  in  alabaster.  "  How  sweet 
her  little  ear  is,— just  fit  for  tales  of  love!" 

She  ran  on  like  a  child  prattling  to  hers-lf. 

"I  used  to  see  her  at  Florence.  Have  you  all  been 
there  ?  "  she  asked,  turning  to  the  others.  "  I  don't  un- 
derstand how  you  can  live  in  America  after  Italy." 

"  Why,  you  are  living  here,  too ! "  said  Phillips. 

"  Yes,  I  am  forced  to  stay  here  for  a  time,  but  it  will 
not  be  long." 

"  You  were  born  in  Italy,  were  you  not  ?  "  said  Living- 
stone. 

"  Yes,  I  come  from  the  Island  of  Sardinia,  which 
accounts,  th>y  say,  for  my  fiery  temper,"  she  answered, 


40  THE    ITALIAN   GIRL. 

gayly;  "but  I  think"— she  flushed  slightly— "  that  it 
is  not  that.  I  believe  it  is  the  life  I  lead ;  it  is  such  a 
trying  one ! " 

"You  do  not  like  it,  th^n  ?"  askod  Livingstone. 

"I  hate  it;  I  detest  it."  And  she  turned  away  her 
head  to  hide  the  emotions  of  her  faf»p. 

"But  you  are  admired  by  everybody;  you  are  the 
cynosure  of  the  whole  city.  Every  woman  likes  to  be 
the  queen  of  the  kingdom  she  inhabits." 

"Not  in  the  way  I  am,"  said  Rosa. 

••  May  I  have  the  pleasure  of  taking  yon  in  to  dinner?  " 
said  Phillips,  offering  his  arm. 

"  Here,  Livingstone,  plaea  yourself  on  the  other  side 
of  Miss  Rosa — pardon  me,  I  have  not  the  honor  of  know- 
ing your  last  name." 

"Oh,  it  is  no  matter;  everybody  calls  me  Miss  Rosa, 
but  my  name  is  Thornton." 

"An  English  name!"  said  Livingstone;  but  Phillips 
gave  him  a  look.  Then  turning  to  Rosa,  continued, 
"Everybody,  you  mean,  save  the  interesting  clown  in 
your  establishment.  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  he  solaced 
himself  by  giving  you  the  title  of  Miss  Rosy." 

"  Yes,"  said  Rosa,  and  she  broke  into  gay,  child-like 
laughter,  but  checked  it  abruptly  as  Phillips  had  heard 
her  do  on  the  previous  morning. 

"  He  is  a  good  rain,  for  all  that,"  she  continued  ;  "  a 
true,  honest  fellow,  who  caves  more  for  doing  his  duty, 
though  in  a  humble  way,  than  for  anything  else  in  life, 
lie  lias  a  poor  mother,  whom  he  supports,"  she  added, 
her  color  rising  as  she  warmed  with  her  theme.  "I 
wish  he  hud  some  other  business;  he  does  not  like  his 
own  He  has  to  jest,  whether  he  feels  sad  or  merry.  All 


THE    ITALIAN  GIRL.  41 

of  you,"  she  said,  turning  to  them,  "  make  sport  of  hia 
miserable  jokes,  but  you  do  not  know  how  hard  it  is  to 
be  even  stupidly  funny  every  day  of  the  year,  and  all  the 
years  of  one's  life." 

"  The  person  you  speak  of  is  very  happy  in  possessing 
so  warm  an  advocate,"  said  Mr.  Elliot,  looking  at  Rosa 
with  admiration.  "  There  is  not  one  of  us  that  would 
not  willingly  charge  places  with  him." 

"  Indeed  he  is  not  happy  at  all ! "  said  Eosa,  earnestly, 
not  noticing  the  latter  part  of  Elliot's  speech. 

"Snubbed,  Elliot!"  whispered  Phillips. 

"  I  wonder."  said  Livingstone,  who  had  heard  from 
Phillips  the  story  of  the  poor  clown,  if  we  could  not  find 
him  some  more  agreeable  occupation." 

"  Oh.  pray  do! "  said  Rosa,  dropping  her  knife  and  fork, 
and  clasping  her  hands  together,  "  indeed  he  deserves 
it ;  I  should  be  so  glad  for  him,  and  for  his  mother." 

'•  Well ! "  said  Livingstone,  "  I  need  a  man  in  my 
office  to  run  errands,  and  if  he  will  come  to  me,  I  will 
willingly  give  him  ten  dollars  a  week." 

"Oh,"  said  RJSU,  her  face  radiant,  "you  are  very 
good !  that  will  be  a  small  fortune  to  him.  Mr.  Cinizelli 
g'ives  him  only  five  dollars.  I  wish  I  could  run  at  once 
and  tell  him !  Poor  fellow,  he  would  repeat  his  jests 
with  a  lighter  heart  if  he  knew  it.  I  believe  he  has  to 
lie  awake  at  night  to  invent  new  jokes,  and  after  all 
they  are  so  poor,  I  often  blush  for  them." 

"  That  was  not  such  a  bad  one  last  night,"  said  Phil- 
lips, "  when  he  said  he  had  gone  into  the  army  during 
our  wars,  and  risen  from  the  ranks  with  such  rapidity 
that  he  reached,  in  a  few  days,  the  grade  of  General 
Nuisance.  I  thought  the  fellow  made  a  hit  then." 


42  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"  Who  was  the  pretty  lady  with  you  the  other  night 
— the  first  evening  I  saw  you  ?  "  asked  Rosa  of  Mr. 
Elliot. 

"'That  was  the  glass  of  fashion,  the  observed  of  all 
observers,'"  he  answered.  "She  has  various  titles; 
some  people  call  her  Sappho.  \Vliy,  I  do  not  know  : 
she  has  never  written,  sung  or  suffered,  that  I  know  of! 
I  have  heard  her  called  Zenobia  ;  but  her  husband  has 
given  her  the  title  of — Mrs.  Brandon.  Pardon  me  if  I 
disagree  with  you  in  thinking  her  pretty." 

"  No,  I  do  not  mean  her — not  that  showy  lady,  who 
spread  out  her  dress  as  if  she  were  a  peacock."  said 
Rosa,  laughing.  "  I  do  not  like  her  style  ;  but  that  modest 
one,  younger  than  she,  who  blushed  continually  ?  " 

"  By  Jove !  you  have  a  quick  eye,"  said  Mr.  Phillips, 
"Elliot  is  better  informed  about  her  than  the  rest  of 
us— eh,  Elliot?" 

"  Let  us  drink  to  Mrs.  Brandon!  "  said  Elliot,  taking 
no  notice  of  Phillips'  last  words.  They  filled  their  glasses. 

"And  long  may  she  wave!"  said  Phillips,  who  was 
slightly  affected  by  the  various  wines  of  which  he  had 
partaken. 

"Fill  up  Miss  Rosa's  glass,  Livingstone,  and  let  us 
all  drink  to  the  prettiest  creature  we  have  seen  for  a 
long  time — Mies  Rosa  Thornton  ! " 

"  I  do  not  wish  any  more,"  said  Rosa,  gravely.  "  I  do 
not  like  wine." 

"Sine  Baccho  friget  Venus,"  said  Phillips. 

"  It  is  rather  warm  here,"  said  Livingstone  ;  "suppose 
we  take  our  coffee,  if  you  have  no  objection,  Phillips, 
in  the  next  room." 

They  rose,  and  sauntered  into  the  parlor.    Rosa  ap- 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  43 

preached  the  table  and  began  turning  over  the  books. 
When  she  was  silent,  her  face  was  dark ;  her  complexion 
was  clear,  but  her  hair,  eyes  and  eyebrows  so  black  as  to 
give  a  dusky  look  to  her  features — save  when  she  spoke; 
then  it  suddenly  brightened;— iuto  her  eyes,  which 
were  languid  and  shaded  with  long  eyelashes,  came  a 
quick  radiance,  and  gave  her  face  a  brilliant  air,  which 
did  not  seem  a  part  of  it  when  she  was  not  much  in- 
terested. 

Livingstone  fancied,  in  the  early  part  of  the  evening, 
while  he  watched  her  eyelashes  drooping  on  her  cheeks 
and  the  dark  lines  under  her  eyes,  that  many  salt  tears 
must  have  fallen  already  in  the  young  girl's  life.  "Poor 
child!"  he  had  said  to  himself;  but  with  pity  came  a 
twinge  of  pain,  and  he  had  turned  away,  if  possible,  not 
to  think  of  it  again. 

"Oh  !"  said  Rosa,  her  face  lighting  now  with  that  pe- 
culiar brilliancy,  "  here  is  Alfred  de  Musset !  he,  too,  is 
an  old  friend  of  mine !  I  find  in  these  rooms  everything 
that  I  most  care  for ! " 

"  Have  you  read  him  much  ?  "  asked  Livingstone,  with 
some  surprise. 

"  Yes,  nearly  all  he  ever  wrote,  I  believe.  I  devour  all 
the  books  I  can  find ;  a  great  many,  she  said,  coloring, 
"  that  I  dare  say  I  ought  not  to  read, — but  it  is  the  only 
moans  I  have  of  forgetting  myself.  But  Alfred  de 
Musset  is  not  bad ;  to  be  sure,  I  do  not  like  his  poetry — 
except  some  fugitive  pieces.  Do  you  recall  those  lines 
ending  with,  ( Le  seul  bien  qui  me  reste  au  monde  est 
d'avoir  pleure  quelquefois  ? '  That  is,  indeed,  the  one 
good  thing,"  she  continued  earnestly,*  as  if  forgetting 
herself  a  moment,  "  that  is  left  to  many  of  us." 


44  THE    ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"  You  are  yery  young  to  say  that,"  said  Mr.  Elliot, 
smiling,  "you  should  remember  those  other  words  so 
much  prettier  and  better  suited  to  you,  '  Fuit  on  1'amour 
quand  on  est  si  jolie  ?  " 

"Do  you  not  like  D«?  Musset?"  said  Rosa,  not  heeding 
Mr.  Elliot;  "he  was  unhappy!  I  always  pity  him." 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Livingstone, "  that  he  had  an  artistic 
temperament,  which  always  tends,  they  say,  to  create 
unhappiness.  I  suppose  it  is  to  the  possessor  what 
delicate  lungs  are  to  a  consumptive,  and  makes  every 
breeze  a  blast.  Yes,  one  feels  an  artist's  hand  in  every- 
thing he  wrote.  The  French  have  a  national  gift  of 
expression  ;  there  is  a  clearness  of  perception,  a  power 
of  graphic  description,  a  keen  introspection,  that 
sounds  at  once  the  depths  and  shallows  of  the  soul — a 
m'croscopic  analysis  of  the  human  heart  which  is  truly 
remarkable.  And  yet,  when  you  close  your  book,  there 
is  no  mental  exhilaration  ;  your  intellect  may  have  been 
sharpened,  but  it  has  not  soared  to  nobler  hf  ights  ;  you 
do  not  feel  that  your  miud  has  been  fed  and  fertilized, 
but  only  rendered  more  subtle  and  clear.  Sight  is  not 
restored  to  the  blind,  but  the  eyes  are  opened  to  what 
were  best  unseen." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Rosa,  "that  I  ever  thought  of 
all  that,  but  I  have  often  felt  a  most  depressing  influence 
from  reading  French  books;  you  find  nothing  as  you 
eay,  that  helps  you  to  climb  the  mountains;  you  are  only 
told  that  they  are  soft  and  slippery,  clothed  with  poison- 
ous flowers,  and  that  you  must  needs  climb  thorn  the 
best  way  you  can !  If  you  reach  the  summit,  it  is  wc-11; 
if  you  stumble  and  roll  to  the  bottom,  it  is  but  natural 
and  what  others  do." 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  45 

"It  seems  to  me,"  sa:d  Mr.  Livingstone,  "that  you 
have  most  skillfully  seized  the  key,  and  penetrated  into 
the  heart  of  the  whole  edifice."  Rosa's  face  glowed  with 
earnestness.  Phillips  and  Elliot  had  gone  into  the  next 
room  to  get  cigars,  and  she  was  alone  with  Livingstone. 
He  bent  his  eyes  npon  her  with  a  feeling  of  wonder;  he 
was  studying  her  curiously ;  he  could  not  understand 
how  a  girl  in  her  position — a  little  circus  rider — should 
be  talking  with  him  of  French  literature,  whose  spirit 
she  had  felt  and  comprehended. 

"  How  old  are  you  ? — if  it  is  not  indiscreet  to  ask;  at 
your  fresh  age,  one  does  not  mind,"  he  said,  smiling, 
"  counting  the  circles  on  one's  rind." 

"  I  am  seventeen,  but  I  have  been  left  so  much  to 
myself  that  reading  has  become  my  chief  solace.  I 
learned  what  I  know  of  the  languages  by  accident  rather 
than  otherwise.  Italian  is  my  native  tongue;  French  I 
acquired,  I  know  not  how,  long  before  I  went  to  Paris; 
English  I  learned  in  England,  in  which  country  I 
stayed  eight  years  in  childhood.  It  was  there  I  took 
my  riding  lessons — but  I  am  talking  a  great  deal  about 
myself." 

"  Surely  nothing  could  interest  me  more.  Tell  me," 
he  said,  "  may  I  speak  to  you  quite  openly  ?  May  I  take 
the  liberty  of  a  friend  ?  " 

"It  is  what  I  most  need,"  said  Eosa,  looking  down. 

"'  Then  I  would  say  to  you  that  this  is  not  the  place 
for  you  to  visit.  I  have  derived  a  selfish  pleasure  from 
meeting  you  here,  but  indeed  you  should  not  accept  in- 
vitations from  young  men." 

She  raised  her  eyes  and  gave  him  a  quick,  searching 
look. 


46  THE    ITALIAN   GIRL. 

"No/'  said  he;  "not  even  if  I  were  to  ask  yon  my- 
self." 

"  Then  what  am  I  to  do  ?  "  said  she,  her  lips  trembling. 
"  Where  am  I  to  go  ?  Ladies  will  not  ask  me  to  visit 
them,  and  I  am  so  lonely!  You  do  not  know  what 
loneliness  is,  or  you  would  not  speak  thus  to  me." 

"  Pardon  me,  I  have  but  to  look  at  you  to  feel  what  it 
is  for  you  ;  still,  at  the  risk  even  of  hurting  your  feelings, 
I  shall  say  again,  you  ought  not  to  be  here !" 

"  Why  are  you  here,  then  ?  "  she  said,  quickly. 

"  Men  are  naturally  selfish,"  he  replied,  smiling;  "and 
besides  it  is  generally  thought  of  little  consequence 
where  a  man  goes ;  but  a  woman  must  be  always  screened 
and  hedged  about  from  contact  with  the  world,  like  a 
rosebud  within  the  moss.  Where  did  you  meet  with 
your  favorite,  De  Musset  ?  "  he  added,  with  an  indifferent 
air,  as  Phillips  and  Elliot  approached  them. 

"  I  will  tell  you  1  When  I  was  in  Paris  with  Monsieur 
Cinizelli,  I  lived  in  a  miserable  little  pension,  and  there, 
within  a  small  glass  case  in  the  dining-room,  was  a  row 
of  volumes,  very  shabbily  bound  and  much  soiled.  It 
was  a  strange  assortment!  The  mistress  of  the  house 
told  me  that  her  husband  had  been  fond  of  reading,  but 
he  was  dead,  and  that  she  had  not  sold  these  books, 
because  they  seemed  to  her  a  part  of  him.  There  I  found 
Sismondi's  Republics,  George  Sand's  novels,  several  of 
Alexandre  Dumas'  and  Fils',  six  volumes  of  Dickens, 
translated  into  French,  and  Alfred  de  Musset;  that,  I 
thii.k,  was  all !  I  had  always  had  a  passion  for  reading, 
but  scarcely  any  means  of  gratifying  it,  so  I  asked  the 
landlady's  leave  to  take  some  of  these  books  to  my  room, 
and  she  reluctantly  consented.  It  was  a  perfect  banquet 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  47 

to  me,  and  I  used  to  spend  all  my.  leisure  hours  in 
reading." 

"  And  may  one  inquire  what  you  did  in  those  hours 
that  were  not  leisure  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Phillips. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  made  all  my  dresses  fur  the  evenings — not 
my  habits,  those  have  to  be  cut  by  a  tailor — so  I  often 
had  to  read  at  night." 

"But  your  dresses  are  so  light  and  airy,"  said  Mr. 
Phillips,  "that  I  should  not  have  thought  it  would 
have  required  much  time  to  make  them." 

"Ah,"  she  said,  smiling,  "you  forget  that  I  must  have 
so  many.  I  do  not  care  for  rich  dresses,  but  they  must 
at  least  be  perfectly  fresh,  and  being  of  thin  material,  I 
can  only  wear  them  a  few  times.  You  are  laughing  at 
me,  but  it  was  you  who  led  me  on  to  give  all  these  silly 
details." 

"If  Elliot  or  Livingstone  are  laughing,  I  will  forth- 
with challenge  them  both.  As  for  myself,  1  was  never 
more  serious  in  my  life.  One  would  not  imagine  that 
dainty  finger  ever  wore  thimble." 

"  But  the  little  slave  is  crowned,"  said  Rosa,  laughing ; 
"  yes,  I  have  a  gold  thimble,  set  round  with  turquoise, 
and  my  initials  on  it  in  the  same  stone.  Is  it  not  a 
pretty  idea?  It  was  sent  me  one  night  in  London, 
screwed  down  on  the  handle  of  a  beautiful  whip ;  I  never 
had  anything  that  pleased  me  more." 

Livingstone  glanced  at  his  watch.  Rosa  saw  him,  and 
looked  at  hers. 

"  It  is  late,"  she  said ;   "  I  must  go." 

"  No,  don't  be  in  a  hurry,"  said  Mr.  Phillips,  laughing  ; 
"let  us  make  a  merry  night  of  itl" 

"I  have  an  engagement,"  said  Livingstone,  gravely; 


48  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  the  other  gentlemen  have  the 
same." 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Elliot,  taking  out  his  watch,  "  I 
think  we  must  be  bound  on  the  same  road ;  we  might 
all  accompany  Miss  Thornton  home,  and  then  go 
together  to  my  house." 

Rosa  hastened  to  put  on  her  hat  and  mantle,  and  then 
said,  "  I  am  ready ! " 

"  This  is  my  right  par  excellence,"  said  Mr.  Phillips, 
offering  his  arm  to  Rosa. 

"  We  accord  it  you,"  said  Mr.  Elliot,  "  so  long  as  it  is 
not  par  preference" 

"Have  you  given  my  offer  of  yesterday  a  second 
thought?"  said  Phillips  to  Rosa,  as  they  got  into  the 
street;  "  is  your  decision  still  irrevocable  with  regard  to 
Bruno?" 

He  felt  her  hand  tremble  on  his  arm,  but  he  resisted 
the  temptation  he  experienced  to  press  it  to  his  side ;  he 
did  not  wish  to  frighten  her. 

"  I  have  thought  of  it  all  the  time  since  you  made  it, 
but  oh,  Mr.  Phillips! — why  did  you  ever  put  it  in  my 
mind  ?  Why  did  you  ever  place  it  in  my  power  to  think 
of  a  subject  so  painful  to  me  ?  " 

"  My  dear  girl,  forget  it  at  once !  I  never  would  have 
mentioned  it  had  I  imagined  it  would  give  you  a  mo- 
ment's pain." 

"  Yes,  but  there  are  reasons  why  I  cannot  forget  it, 
reasons  of  which  I  cannot  speak,  that  have  placed  the 
keeping  of  Bruno  under  the  form  of  a  terrible  tempta- 
tion to  me." 

"Some  maiden's  whim,  some  female  vanity,  some 
woman's  caprice,  eh  ? " 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  49 

"  Oli  no !  not  that !  No,  indeed,  not  that !  What  a 
beautiful  night  it  is ! " 

"Yes,  we  shall  have  splendid  nights  at  sea  next  month, 
— a  full  moon  all  the  way  over ! " 

"How  I  envy  you!"  she  said.  "I  love  life  on  the 
ocean ;  it  is  a  drifting  between  two  unknown  shores — 
neither  life  nor  death.  There  seem  to  be  no  duties 
imposed  on  one ;  one  has  nothing  to  do  save  look  into 
the  bosom  of  the  Avaters,  and  try  to  see  all  the  wonders 
that  are  there.  I  always  imagined  when  I  leaned  over 
the  bulwark  at  night  that  I  saw  the  sea-nymphs  beck- 
oning to  me,  and  holding  up  necklaces  of  pearls  to  lure 
me.  I  thought  they  knew  I  belonged  to  nobody,  and 
that  they  would  have  me  with  them." 

"Would  you  like  to  be  on  your  way  back  to  Europe 
so  soon  ?  " 

"Oh  yes,  above  all  things!  I  have  been  here  a  long 
time,  but  I  cannot  get  accustomed  to  the  country;  and 
yet,  strangely  enough,  I  have  a  feeling  that  I  am  to  live 
here  always,  and  the  thought  makes  me  very  sad." 

"  I  don't  wonder.  I  can  endure  it  for  a  few  months, 
but  no  longer;  when  one  has  once  tasted  life  abroad,  one 
does  not  willingly  come  back  to  the  frightful  realities  of 
America.  I  was  amused  the  other  day  by  a  French  girl's 
definition  of  this  country, — 'Why,  sir,' she  said,  'one 
amuses  one's  self  at  Paris  with  four  cents;  one  does  not 
amuse  one's  self  here  with  four  dollars.'  I  thought  it 
was  packing  the  whole  in  a  few  words." 

Kosa  laughed.     "  It  is  very  true,"  she  said,  "although 

I  have  never  learned  the  secret  of  the  word  '  s'amuser? 

Yet  there  is  an  entrainement  in  Paris,  a  variety  in  the 

shops,  a  rush,  a  bustle,  an  excitement  about  nothing,  a 

3 


50  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

perpetual  movement  without  any  special  motive,  that 
interests  one,  and  carries  one  out  of  one's  self,  in  spite 
of  all  one's  determination  to  be  sad." 

"  Take  care,"  said  Elliot,  "  we  are  very  near  you,  we 
overhear  everything." 

"  No,"  said  Livingstone,  "  Elliot  maligns  us ; — we  have 
heard  nothing  except  Miss  Thornton's  last  sentence, 
which  struck  us  both  as  very  true.  I  think  it  is  Madame 
de  Stael  who  says,  '  It  is  at  Paris  that  one  can  best  do 
without  happiness/" 

"One  might  modernize  the  mot"  said  Phillips,  "and 
improve  it  by  saying,  at  New  York  one  must  do  without 
happiness.  Here  we  are  at  your  door,  Miss  Rosa  I  Good 
evening,  and  au  revoir,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Good-night,  and  thanks  for  the  very  pleasant  evening 
I  have  passed."  She  bowed  to  them  with  dignity,  and 
entered  her  humble  home. 

"Hang  it!"  said  Phillips,  as  they  turned  away,  "one 
does  not  know  how  to  talk  to  the  girl;  you  find  yourself 
treating  her  with  all  the  respect  you  would  show  to  a  real 
lady,  and  yet  you  feel  half-ashamed  of  your  own  gaudier  ie, 
when  you  remember  that  she  is  only  a  circus-rider." 

"  I  should  think  one  need  not  feel  ashamed  of  treating 
her  with  all  the  respect  she  commands,"  said  Mr.  Liv- 
ingstone. 

"She  has  the  prettiest,  most  passionate  face  I  ever 
saw,"  said  Elliot,  carelessly,  striking  a  match. 

"  It  would  not  be  a  bad  idea  to  make  her  one's  travel- 
ing companion,"  said  Phillips.  "  It  would  need  a  deuced 
plucky  fellow  to  do  it — all  your  spare  hours  would  l>e 
employed  in  fencing  lessons — dueling  is  rather  a  pro- 
fession on  the  continent,  you  know  1" 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  51 

"  You  might  prepare  for  one  here  first ! "  said  Living- 
stone. Mr  Phillips  did  not  see  by  the  evening  light  how 
his  face  darkened  as  he  spoke. 

"  You  take  everything  au  grand  serieux,"  he  answered, 
laughing;  "you  are  a  sort  of  man-Melpomene,  Living- 
stone !  You  and  Miss  Thornton  would  make  a  great  hit 
if  you  appeared  together  on  the  stage;  wouldn't  they, 
Elliot?" 

Mr.  Elliot  did  not  reply,  and  they  walked  on  in 
silence. 


CHAPTER  V. 

R.  ELLIOT  and  his  two  friends,  as  they  passed 
through  the  door  of  his  house,  heard  a  hum  of 
voices,  and  saw  that  the  drawing-rooms  were 
already  filled.  Cecilia's  face  lighted  as  she  saw 
them  enter;  she  was  seated  with  her  back  to  the  door, 
trying  to  seem  absorbed  in  the  conversation  of  a  gentle- 
man, but  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  a  mirror  opposite,  or 
wandered  restlessly  toward  the  clock ;  her  lips  were 
growing  parched,  and  the  color  burning  in  two  bright 
spots  upon  her  cheeks. 

"Pardon  me!"  she  said,  as  she  hurried  across  the 
room  to  welcome  her  guests. 

"Oh  Henry!"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "how  could 
you  stay  so  late  ?  I  have  been  so  anxious,  so  nervous.'' 

"  About  what  ?  "  said  Henry. 

"About  you,  darling!   Where  were  you  all  (his  time  ? " 

"I  will  tell  you  later,"  he  said,  rather  avoiding  her  eye. 

"But  why  not  now?  I  was  so  sorry  I  was  out  when 
you  came  home — did  you  dress  then  ?  How  handsome 
you  look,  Henry!"  she  said,  glancing  up  admiringly  at 
her  husband.  " Go  and  entertain  some  df  my  guests!  It 
has  seemed  so  dull  this  evening;  a  woman  cannot  be 
brilliant  when  her  husband  is  away;  go  and  make  some 
life!"  So  saying,  she  turned  away,  relieved  because  he 
had  come,  yet  only  half  happy,  and  why,  she  knew  not 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  53 

herself.  Mr.  Phillips  was  already  deep  in  conversation 
with  Miss  Alcott,  and  Mr.  Livingstone  had  approached 
Miss  Mary  Marlboro. 

"You  are  late,  Mr.  Livingstone!"  said  Mary,  coldly, 
and  pulling  rather  nervously  the  leaves  of  a  tea-rose 
which  fastened  the  lace  at  her  pretty  throat;  "  whenever 
you  are  with  Mr.  Phillips  you  are  always  late  !" 

"  Spare  that  rose,  in  your  anger  against  Phillips !" 
said  Livingstone,  laughing ;  "  he  is  not  worth  the  shed- 
ding so  much  fragrance!" 

"  No  ! "  replied  Mary,  quickly,  "  nor  is  any  man  1 " 

"You  are  scathing,  Miss  Marlboro!" 

"Am  I ?    Was  Henry  with  you  this  evening  ? " 

"Yes,  we  dined  together  at  Dehnonico's!" 

"He  might  have  brought  you  home  with  him,"  she 
said,  coloring ;  "  it  would  have  been  more  hospitable." 

"  He  could  not;  it  was  Phillips  that  gave  the  dinner." 

"  "Were  there  any  ladies  present  ?  " 

"  There  was  one  lady,"  said  Livingstone,  smiling. 

"  I  do  not  believe  she  was  a  lady,"  said  Mary,  con- 
temptuously; "an  old  lady  Mr.  Phillips  would  not  ask, 
for  he  has  no  respect  for  age,  and  no  young  lady  would 
be  so  bold  as  to  dine  at  Delmonico's  alone  with  three 
gentlemen.  Although  I  know  your  American  habits  go 
pretty  far,  yet  there  is  some  propriety  left,  I  believe,  even 
in  New  York." 

"You  are  always  hard  on  your  own  country,  Miss 
Marlboro  I " 

"  Perhaps  because  I  love  it  so  much.    I  hate  the . 
affected  sentiment  with  which  you  all  speak  of  it ;  hiding 
its  faults,  so  that  they  find  no  remedy!    But  who  was 
this  fair  lady,  if  I  may  ask  ?  " 


54  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

u  You  may  ask,  and  I  will  reply — that  she  was  not  fair, 
but  dark,  as  truly  Italian  as  even  you  could  desiro,  with 
no  American  taint  or  tinge  upon  her,  and  yet  a  <ady  to 
the  manor  born,  with  a  face  as  sweet,  young  and  innocent 
as  I  ever  saw — and  full  of  feeling ;  in  whose  eyes  one  sees 
storm  and  sunshine  succeed  one  another  more  swiftly 
than  in  April  weather ;  a  face  one  could  remember  for- 
ever with  blended  pleasure  and  pain,  and  where  one  can 
read  prophetically  that '  the  greater  is  yet  behind.'" 

"  Really,  I  never  heard  Mr.  Livingstone  so  eloquent 
before ;  who  is  this  lady  whom  all  women  must  envy  ?  " 

"Miss  Thornton!" 

"  I  never  heard  of  her ;  is  she  a  new  star  ?  " 

"  Pardon  me,  you  have  both  heard  of  and  seen  her ! " 
said  Mr.  Livingstone. 

"  Miss  Thornton — I  do  not  remember  any  such  per- 
son ;  and  yet  such  a  picture  must  have  left  some  impres- 
sion on  the  mind.  Pray  who  is  she,  Mr.  Livingstone  ? 
I  am  burning  with  curiosity ! " 

"  Do  you  recall  an  evening,  not  so  long  ago,  spent  at 
the  circus — a  plebeian  entertainment  enough,  still  it  gave 
us  some  pleasure  at  the  time.  The  famous  equestrienne 
of  the  troupe  was  the  Miss  Thornton  of  whom  I  speak." 

"  You  jest ! " 

"  Why  do  I  jest,  Miss  Marlboro  ?  n 

"  Because  you  called  her  a  lady  ! " 

"  And  has  not  the  person  who  afforded  ns  so  much 
pleasure  a  soul,  like  ourselves  ?  Does  she  not  belong  to 
the  great  order  of  humanity  ?  Is  there  any  reason  why 
she  should  not  become  one  of  us — provided  she  be  good, 
I  mean  as  we  are  ?  " 

"  It  is  your  turn  to  be  scathing  now,  Mr.  Livingstone  1" 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  55 

"  Whom  arc  you  talking  of  ?  "  asked  Cecilia,  joining 
them. 

"  Oh,"  said  Mary,  haughtily,  and  laying  great  stress 
on  her  words,  "  we  were  speaking  of  a  particular  friend 
of  Mr.  Livingstone!" 

"I  can  scarcely  boast  so  much,"  said  Livingstone, 
laughing;  "  we  were  discussing  the  Amazon  of  the  day — 
Miss  Ilosa  Thornton,  and  Miss  Marlboro  does  me  the 
honor  to  approve  my  good  taste  iu  admiring  that 
lady." 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  Cecilia,  "I  do  not  wonder  at  it.  She 
is  the  prettiest  creature  I  ever  saw!  No,  perhaps  not  the 
prettiest,  that  is  not  the  word,  but  the  most  interesting; 
— she  has  the  dearest  face,  so  full  of  fire — she  looks  so 
earnest — so  intense." 

"But  I  do  not  admire  Mr.  Livingstone's  discrimina- 
tion in  calling  her  a  latly,"  said  Mary. 

"  But,  pray,  what  should  I  call  her  ? " 

"  A  girl ! "" 

"You  are  right;  perhaps  she  is  hardly  old  enough  to 
be  called  anything  else." 

'•No,  I  do  not  mean  that,"  said  Mary,  "you  under- 
stand my  meaning  perfectly  Avell — a  person  in  her 
position  cannot  be  called  a  lady." 

"But  if  she  is  one?" 

"Sue  cannot  be!" 

"  But  if  in  character  and  manners  she  is  one>  why  may 
she  not  be  called  so  ?  " 

"  Because  a  circus-rider  cannot  be  a  lady." 

"If  she  really  cannot  be,"  said  Mr.  Livingstone, bowing 
and  laughing,  "then  the  discussion  ends  there.  I  go  to 
discover  my  genealogical  tree.  Aristocracy  and  America 


56  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

have  this  in  common,  that  they  both  begin  with  the 
first  letter  of  the  alphabet." 

As  he  moved  away,  Mary's  face  grew  scarlet ;  she 
turned  from  her  sister  with  an  impatient  shrug  of  her 
shoulders,  and  said  no  more.  Supper  was  soon  an- 
nounced, and  Livingstone  came  back  to  offer  Miss  Marl- 
boro his  arm,  but  she  slipped  hers  into  that  of  another 
gentleman,  who  had  forestalled  Mr.  Livingstone,  and 
feigning  not  to  see  the  latter,  passed  into  the  supper- 
room.  Soon  after  supper  the  guests  dispersed. 

"  Good-night ! "  said  Mary  to  Cecilia;  "  I  am  tired,  and 
am  going  to  my  room." 

"  Good-night ! "  said  Cecilia ;  "  it  has  been  a  very  dull 
party.  Put  out  the  lights,  John !  Come,  Henry,  let  us 
go  up  stairs,  I  am  very  tired ! " 

Cecilia  went  to  her  room,  and  unclasped  abstractedly 
her  necklace  from  her  neck.  There  was  a  feeling  of 
heaviness  about  her  heart.  She  wanted  to  speak  naturally 
to  Henry,  but  she  felt  as  if  she  could  not — she  knew  not 
why.  She  heard  him  moving  in  the  next  room. 

"  Henry,"  she  asked,  "  where  were  you  this  evening  ? " 

"I  was  at  Delmonico's,"  he  answered  cheerily. 

"  Was  any  one  with  you,  dear  ?  " 

"  Yfes,  Phillips  and  Livingstone."    There  was  a  pause. 

"  Any  one  else  ?  " 

There  was  silence  in  the  next  room — she  raised  her 
voice,  and  repeated — 

"Any  one  else,  Henry?" 

"No !"  he  answered.  It  hurt  him  to  say  it,  but  some- 
how he  did  not  like  to  tell  her  who  was  there  ;  his  "  No ! " 
felt  cold  on  the  air  which  lay  between  them,  and  there 
was  silence  again.  Cecilia  said — 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  57 

"I  do  not  think  it  right,  Henry,  not  to  let  me  know 
when  you  are  dining  out.  It  is  very  unkind  to  keep  me 
in  agitation  and  anxiety  all  the  evening.  You  know  I 
am  nervous  and  worried  if  I  am  uncertain  where  yon  are." 

"  It  is  foolish  to  be  thus  worried  and  anxious ;  I  am 
not  a  child,  and  the  sooner  you  get  over  this  nonsense 
the  better.  I  am  putting  you  through  a  course  of 
training." 

"  You  are  cruel,"  said  Cecilia,  with  a  tremulous  voice. 
"  Good-night,  dear  Henry ! " 

No  answer ! 

She  threw  herself  on  her  bed.  and  smothering  her  face 
in  the  pillows,  cried  herself  to  sleep. 


And  where  was  Rosa  Thornton  during  all  these  hours  ? 
She  was  seated  in  her  lonely  room,  on  the  side  of  her 
bed,  recalling  the  events  of  the  evening.  Had  she  been 
happy?  she  asked  herself.  Did  she  ever  have  a  happy 
hour  ?  Why  was  not  she,  like  other  girls,  hedged  about 
by  a  happy  home — by  troops  of  friends — by  sisters  and 
brothers?  Had  she  been  right  in  going  alone  to  Mr. 
Phillips' rooms  ?  Something  instinctive  told  her  that 
she  had  not.  The  blood  rushed  to  her  brow  as  she 
thought,  how  could  they  think  well  of  her  ?  Why  did 
they  not  ask  some  ladies  to  meet  her  ?  But  any  lady 
would  blush  to  be  seen  in  the  same  parlor  with  her,  and 
why  had  God  made  it  so  ?  She  had  done  no  harm,  and 
yet  everybody  shrunk  from  her ! 

"  They  will  drive  me  mad,"  she  said,  thrusting  her 
hands  through  her  thick,  dark  hair,  and  tangling  her 
3* 


58  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

Jocks,  while  the  hot  tears  fell  upon  them  and  glistened 
there  like  diamonds.  "  They  will  drive  me  mad !  I 
shall  cry  away  all  my  good  looks  before  I  am  twenty, 
and  then  no  one  will  even  glance  at  me  again.  They 
would  not  think  me  pretty  now,  if  they  could  see  me  in 
the  day,  with  these  great  black  marks  under  my  eyes ; 
my  mother  used  to  say  to  me,  *  Rosa,  all  thou  hast  is  thy 
beauty ;  when  that  is  gone,  no  one  will  love  thee  ! '  Oh, 
what  a  wicked  world  it  is !  I  want  to  be  happy — I  want 
to  be  happy — yet  everything  mocks  me ;  the  earth,  with 
its  bright  flowers,  the  sun  with  his  light,  even  the  horrid 
music  to  which  nightly  I  must  needs  keep  time!  My 
mother  is  very  wicked,  very  cruel,  and  so  is  my  father, 
or  they  would  not  have  sent  me  into  the  cold  world 
to  battle  with  its  temptations.  I  hate  them  both,  but 
I  defy  them  all — all! "  said  she,  starting  up  and  paring 
rapidly  up  and  down  the  room,  while  her  eyes  flashed. 

"Nobody  knows  my  secret — nobody  shall  have  it;  it 
is  my  own;  but  I  feel  the  fire  here,"  pressing  her  hand 
upon  her  heart,  "and  it  shall  not  burn  in  vain;  they 
shall  yet  applaud  me,  and  in  earnest! — no  sneers! — no 
double  entendrcs  !  They  shall  kneel  at  my  feet  and  ask 
my  pardon  for  the  wrong  they  have  done  me."  Suddenly 
she  stopped  and  murmured,  while  her  face  grew  pale: 

"I  must  part  with  Bruno !  I  will  accept  Mr.  Phillips' 
kind  offer;  I  hate  to  take  money  from  him,  but  it  is  the 
speediest  way!  Five  thousand  dollars — that  is  twenty- 
five  thousand  francs! — a  dowry  such  as  few  girls  in  Italy 
are  fortunate  enough  to  have.  L?t  me  see,  I  will  give 
ten  thousand  to  my  mother;  there  will  be  li-ft  fil'tern 
thousand,  which  must  last  me  two  years  while  I  am 
studying;  and  then  I  will  do  something — oh,  I  know  I 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  59 

can  do  something!  Dear,  dear  Bruno!  perhaps  I  can 
buy  you  back  one  day !  Others  humbler  than  I,  and 
poorer,  too,  have  done  more  than  that;"  she  paused 
suddenly — her  heart  throbbed  fast: 

"  What  was  that  noise?  Oh,  how  wholly  alone  I  am." 
She  looked  around  anxiously;  the  lamp  shed  a  dim  light 
through  the  room  ;  she  stooped  nervously,  looked  under 
her  cot,  there  was  nothing  there ;  she  glanced  upward, 
the  little  mirror  on  the  wall  reflected  only  her  own  dark 
forni ;  she  could  hear  her  heart  beating — 'twas  the  sole 
sound  within  the  chamber ;  she  hurried  to  the  door,  and 
turning  the  key, 

"  Who  is  there  ?  "  she  asked,  tremulously.  There  was 
no  answer — only  a  stifled  sound. 

"  Who  is  there  ?"  she  repeated. 

"Nobody,  Signorina!  I  only  came  up  to  watch  that 
nobody  came  near  this  door!" 

" Go  away  instantly,"  cried  Rosa,  "or  I  will  call  the 
police!*' 

"  Good-night,  Miss  Rosa!" 

"  Good-night,"  she  returned,  more  kindly.  She  heard 
him  shuffle  down  the  stairs.  She  opened  the  window, 
and  leaned  out.  Looking  down,  she  saw  George,  the 
poor  clown,  trudging  dolefully  away ;  her  heart  ached 
for  him. 

"  Poor  fellow,"  she  thought,  "  I  wish  I  could  say  some- 
thing to  comfort  him — but  I  cannot !  "  At  this  moment 
her  eyes  fell  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street;  she  drew 
back  her  head  quickly,  while  the  blood  rushed  to  her 
cheek?,  flooding  her  neck  and  brow. 

"  Who  was  it  ?  "  whispered  she  to  herself.  "  Surely  I 
have  seen  that  man  before." 


CHAPTER  VL 

HE  next  morning  Cecilia  and  Mary  were 
seated  in  the  drawing-room — it  was  after 
breakfast,  and  Henry  had  gone  down  town. 
Cecilia  and  he  had  not  made  up  their  little 
quarrel,  and  the  former  was  restlessly  turning  over  the 
books  that  lay  on  the  table,  while  Mary  was  apparently 
absorbed  in  reading.  On  a  sudden,  looking  up — 

"  Cecilia,"  said  she,  "  I  am  going  to  call  on  that  little 
circus-rider  to-day ;  would  you  Lke  to  come  with  me  ?  " 

"  You  are  mad ! "  said  Cecilia.  "  You  would  not  do 
such  a  foolish  thing  ?" 

"  Why  not  ?  What  is  the  difference  between  her  and 
any  other  girl,  save  that  she  is  much  prettier  and  looks 
more  spirited  ?  " 

"  Are  you  in  jest,  Mary,  or  is  this  one  of  your  inde- 
pendent freaks  ?  " 

"  Why,  no !  I  do,  indeed,  mean  to  go.  I  see  no  reason 
why  she  should  not  be  visited  by  us,  as  well  as  by  our 
friends." 

"  But  our  friends  do  not  visit  her." 

"Gentlemen  do!" 

"  She  must  be  a  very  bad  girl,"  said  Cecilia,  warmly, 
"  if  gentlemen  visit  her — and  I  do  not  believe  they  do. 
It  is  very  different  here,  Mary,  and  in  Europe — thank 
heaven  that  it  is  so !" 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  61 

"  I  see  no  reason  in  the  world,"  said  Mary,  who  would 
have  argued  just  as  willingly  on  the  other  side,  "why 
she  must  be  a  bad  girl  because  gentlemen  visit  her.  You 
do  not  say  that  of  Miss  Alcott  or  Miss  Bates." 

"  The  case  is  very  different,  and  you  know  it,"  said 
Cecilia.  "  Besides,  as  I  said  before,  I  do  not  believe  that 
any  real  gentlemen  do  visit  her." 

"  Do  you  think  Mr.  Livingstone  a  real  gentleman  ? 
He  does*!" 

"I  do  not  believe  it!" 

"  You  will  never  think  ill  of  any  one,"  Mary  re- 
turned. "You  are  always  fancying  an  ideal  Round- 
Table  where  Henry  presides  in  person,  like  King 
Arthur;  I  am  so  tired  of  his  perfections  and  those  of 
Mr.  Livingstone,  his  Lancelot.  Take  care  of  your  heart, 
my  dear ! " 

"  I  will ! "  said  Cecilia,  with  burning  cheeks. 

"Mr.  Livingstone,"  continued  Mary,  glad  to  give  a 
proof  of  his  defection,  which  might  make  Cecilia  un- 
happy and  herself  irritated  against  him — "  Mr.  Living- 
stone dined  with  her  yesterday  !  What  do  you  think  of 
that,  for  American  morals  ?  " 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  said  Cecilia,  quietly,  "  for  Mr. 
Livingstone  dined  yesterday  with  Mr.  Phillips  and  Henry, 
at  Delmonico's ! " 

"-Henry  also  dined  with  Miss  Thornton — as  Mr.  Liv- 
ingstone calls  her" — said  Mary,  her  impatience  at 
Cecilia's  pertinacity  leading  her  to  say  what  she  had 
meant  to  keep  from  her  sister. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  broke  in  Cecilia,  who  had 
grown  deadly  pale.  At  this  moment  Mary  looked  up, 
and  beheld  so  much  agony  in  her  sister's  face,  that  she 


62  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

felt  genuine  remorse  for  having  given  her  such  pain. 
She  rose,  and  throwing:  her  arms  about  Cecilia's  neck, 

"  I  do  not  believe,"  she  cried,  "  dear  sister,  that  Henry 
was  there/' 

"lie  was !  But  I  do  not  mind  that,  Mary ! "  she  an- 
swered— struggling  in  vain  to  keep  her  voice  steady — 
"'tis  his  deceiving  me !  He  told  me  that  Mr.  Living- 
stone and  Mr.  Phillips  were  there,  and  no  one  else! 
Why  did  he  deceive  me?  I  could  not  have  so  deceived 
him.  Oh  Miry,"  she  cried,  bursting  into  tears,  "never 
marry !  I  don't  think  love  worth  the  price  we  pay  for  it. 
We  sit  at  home  all  our  lives  long,  and  wait!  They 
always  know  whether  they  are  coming  home  to  us,  and 
know  they  will  always  find  us  here,  but  we  never  know 
when  their  feet  are  turned  our  way;  so  that  we,  being 
always  uncertain,  and  they  ever  secure,  our  love  grows 
and  theirs  wanes.  We  live  all  day  on  a  smile  or  a  word, 
which  they  forget  before  they  have  turned  the  first  cor- 
ner. I  think,  Mary,  I  was  happier  before  we  were 
married.  It  seems  traitorous  to  Henry  to  say  it;  but 
oh,  sister  dear,  I  must  pour  out  all  to  you  !  My  life  is 
a  great  deal  fuller  now;  yet  I  find  myself  ever  question- 
ing, have  I  charms  enough  to  keep  him  always  mine? 
Men  are  so  restless,  and  Henry  seems  to  love  what  is 
beautiful  so  much  ! " 

"  But  you  are  beautiful  enough  for  any  one,"  said 
Mary,  "and  besides,  he  chose  you  !" 

"If  I  am  not  prettily  dressed,  he  sterns  to  feel  le?s 
proud  of  me,"  continued  Cecilia.  "  If  I  were  poor,  and 
had  to  wear  plain  gowns,  would  he  love  me  as  well,  I 
wonder?  And  yet  it  has  always  seemed  to  me  it  would 
be  go  sweet  to  be  poor!  1  hate  our  wealth,  Mary  !  it  is 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  63 

a  groat  divider !  I  should  love  to  toil  all  day,  and  feel 
tired  and  worn  <  lit  at  night — to  think,  when  I  bought  a 
thing,  that  I  had  earned  it — to  deny  myself  little  luxur- 
ies', that  I  might  g>  t  Henry  something;  to  set  the  table 
with  my  own  hand:?,  and  watch  Henry's  face  light  up 
a*  he  came  in  to  our  frugal  meal.  I  feel,  sometimes, 
when  our  table  is  set  out  so  elegantly,  without  the  least 
exertion  on  my  part,  as  if  I  could  not  bear  it!— and 
that  dreadful  man-servant,  always  standing  behind  me 
to  take  my  orders  I  have  nut  yet  known  myself  what 
ennui  is,  but  already  I  fear  it  for  Henry !  It  must  all  be 
dull  to  him!" 

'•You  think  of  Henry  too  much,"  said  Mary;  "it  is 
the  way  to  make  him  think  less  of  you." 

"Sometimes  I  believe  that  it  is  so,"  said  Cecilia,  de- 
spondingly;  "  the  more  pains  I  take  to  please  him,  the 
le.-s  I  succeed.  I  wish,  at  time.?,  that  I  had  all  the  charms 
of  Cleopatru !  I  know  that  is  very  wrong." 

"  Why  is  it  wrong?" 

"  Because  then' he  could  not  respect  me  so  much  !" 

"Cecilia,  you  will  m-ver  be  happy  while  you  keep 
such  foolish  notions!  Give  way  to  your  nature!  Do 
not  explore  Henry's,  but  follow  your  own!  Do  not  be 
jealous — men  hate  that  most!  It  shows  a  want  of  con- 
fidence in  yourself.'* 

•'  But",  how  can  I  help  it?  Oh  Mary,  teach  me! — you 
know  s>  much  more  than  I!  I  wish  I  were  an  artist! 
I  wi-.li  I  had  some  object  or  aim  in  life.  If  I  could  paint 
as  you  can,  I  should  not  be  so  unhappy!" 

"  Yes,  you  would,"  said  Mary,  smiling.  "  But  promise 
me  th  s,  at  leas' — never  to  show  that  you  are  jealous! 
IL-iid,  study — make  yourself  a  companion,  to  Henry  in 


64  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

all  things !  We  women  have  so  much  leisure  which  we 
fritter  away  on  the  thousand  trifles  of  life,  achieving 
nothing !  Sometimes  I  do  not  wonder  that  men  are 
disgusted  with  us!  Even  their  sordid  gains  are  like  a 
giant's  work,  compared  to  the  petty,  dwarf-like  fruits 
of  our  hours!  'What  have  you  done  to-day?'  a  hus- 
band asks,  when  he  comes  home  weary  from  his  business ; 
— and  a  wife  can  only  answer — '  I  have  shopped  a  little, 
written  a  letter,  dressed,  and  made  a  few  culls — and  then 
come  home  to  dress  again  for  dinner;' — what  a  barren 
life!" 

"It  is,  indeed,"  sighed  Cecilia;  "and  the  great  road 
to  eternity  is  trodden  with  just  such  aimless  feet.  Oh 
Mary  !  I  wish  I  had  been  strong  like  you,  and  learned  to 
love  a  career  better  than  any  man ! " 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Mary,  reddening,  and  turning  away 
her  head,  "  I  shall  not  always  be  so  strong ;  only  if  I  once 
win  the  love  of  a  man,  I  mean  to  keep  it.  I  will  never 
let  him  know  how  much  I  love  him !  It  is  that  makes 
men  tyrants,  and  women  slaves!" 

"  Oh  I  wish  I  were  like  you  ! "  cried  Cecilia,  gazing  at 
her  sister  with  admiration,  "I  wish  I  were  anything  but 
what  I  am ! " 

"  Wish  to  be  yourself — since  that  you  cannot  change," 
said  Mary,  smiling — "  only  made  stronger  against  Henry's 
fatal  powers!  I  am  going  up  stairs  now  to  prepare  for 
those  odious  things,  named  'calls' !" 

"You  are  not  going  there?"  asked  Cecilia,  quickly. 

"No,  not  to-day!"  returned  Mary,  glancing  back 
mischievously;  "perhaps  some  other  time!" 

"I  wish,"  murmured  Cecilia,  as  Mary  closed  the  door, 
— her  head  sinking  on  the  table,  "  that  I  had  a  child  ! 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL,  65 

That,  at  least,  would  keep  me  from  ever  being  wholly 
wretched.  What  is  the  use  of  anything  without  that? 
All  day  and  all  night  I  pray  for  it,  y^  t  that  does  not  avail 
me  !  And  I  may  not  tell  any  one  of  this  aching  void  that 
is  ever  present  in  my  heart !  How  shall  I  meet  Henry 
to-day  ?  Shall  I  reproach  him  ?  Then  he  will  be  angry ! 
But  I  cannot  be  silent !  I  must  speak  !  I  cannot  keep 
this  feeling  in  my  heart,  and  smile!  Has  he  known  no 
remorse  to-day?  Oh,  it  was  dreadful  not  to  tell  me! 
Why,  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  I  would  conceal  from 
him !  I  feel  so  lonely — not  even  Mary  can  take  away 
this  sense  of  loneliness !  But  I  will  try  to  be  strong,  and 
not  cry  my  eyes  red ;  for  Mary  says  men  hate  tears,  and 
she  is  right !  Why  do  they  make  us  cry,  then  ?  " 

Cecilia  took  up  a  book,  and  tried  to  fix  her  attention 
on  it ;  but  ever  and  again  the  book  dropped  from  hei 
hands,  and  she  fell  to  wondering  why  it  was  that  Henry 
had  concealed  from  her  the  fact  of  his  meeting  that  little 
circus  beauty  at  Mr.  Phillips'  rooms. 

Presently  Mary  came  down,  and,  looking  in,  asked  if 
she  would  not  walk  with  her ;  but  no,  she  could  not 
make  up  her  mind  to  go  out.  What  a  long  day  stretched 
out  before  her,  till  the  dinner-hour,  when  Henry  would 
come  home!  And  would  he  come  to-day,  or  would  he 
stay  away  again  ?  She  paced  the  room  restlessly.  She 
sat  down  once  more  to  read.  The  servant  tells  her  lunch 
is  ready.  She  does  not  care  for  lunch.  The  hours  drag 
slowly  on. 

Suddenly  she  started ; — what  was  that  ?  A  key  turn- 
ing quickly  in  the  street  door !  Cecilia's  cheeks  burned ; 
her  hands  grew  cold.  A  hasty  step  in  the  hall — her  hus- 
band's— and  then  she  heard  him  go  up  the  stairs.  She 


66  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

longed  to  run  after  him,  but  something  withheld  her. 
She  listened;  he  was  walking  in  the  room  above,  and 
whistling  a  familiar  air.  Was  he  so  happy,  then,  and  she 
so  miserable  ?  Presently  she  heard  his  step  in  his  dress- 
ing-room ;  she  still  waited,  uncertain  what  to  do;  now 
he  was  coming  down  the  stairs, — was  he  going  out  again  ? 
It  v  as  yet  early,  he  never  came  home  so  early  before — 
her  h  art  beat  fast.  Now  his  ste'ps  approach  the  drawing- 
room  door.  It  is  opened  : 

"Ah,  Cecilia,  my  love  !  Is  that  you  ?  I  was  looking 
for  you  up  stairs."  She  did  not  run  to  meet  him  and 
throw  her  arms  about  his  neck — she  stood  quite  still: 

"Henry,  dear,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice,  "will  you 
not  come  in  ?" 

"1  am  in  a  hurry,  now,"  he  answered  hastily. 

"  Yes,  but  Henry,  dear,  I  entreat  you  to  come  in  for 
a  moment  I" 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter,  Cecilia,  are  you  not 
well?" 

"Oh,  yes,  very  well!"  she  said,  in  a  tremulous  tone  ; 
"where  are  you  g"ing  so  hurriedly  ?  I  feel  so  wivtched, 
Henry  dear,  will  you  not  take  me  to  walk  ?  All  the  day 
long  i he  sunlight  has  been  pouring  into  my  room,  but  I 
hav<-  f  It  eo  lonely  1" 

"Well,"  lie  paid,  kindly,  "little  girl,  go  and  put  on 
your  bonnet,  I  will  take  you  to  walk;  I  am  sorry  you  do 
not  feel  well !  " 

He  had  called  her '•  little  girl."  She  loved  to  hoar 
that,  it  sounded  so  gentle,  and  In-  never  said  it  hut  \\  In  n 
he  felt  very  kindly  toward  her.  She  was  afraid  of  Henry 
— nfraid  of  displeasing  him— and  it  was  this  very  fear 
which  repelled  him.  She  moved  to  the  door  as  if  to  go 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  67 

and  make  ready  for  her  walk,  but  as  her  hand  touched 
the  handle,  she  ptmsid  suddenly,  and  in  a  quick  un- 
dertone: 

"  Henry! "  she  said,  "you  deceived  me  last  night,  you 
did  not  tell  me  there  was  another  person  with  you  at 
Del  mon  ico's  !  There  was  some  one  else  there '  I  would 
not  have  minded  it,  had  you  told  me — 'twas  /our  not 
telling  me  that  has  cans  d  me  so  much  pain!" 

She  had  turned  round  now,  and  was  facing  Henry ;  all 
the  sweet  sunshine  had  gone  out  of  his  face,  and  it  looked 
fixed  and  hard ;  her  hand  trembled ;  she  raised  it,  and 
put  ib  on  his  shoulder;  her  voice  faltered. 

"  IL-nry,  dearest,  do  not  be  angry  with  me !  Do 
gpeak,  and  tell  me  why  you  did  not  say  who  was 
there  ?  " 

"  Because,"  he  answered,  coldly,  "  I  know  your  absurd 
ideas  about  classes — that  no  Brahmin  loves  his  caste  as 
women  do  their  pseudo-aristocracy.  I  knew  the  girl 
would  stand  no  chance  of  escaping  your  scorn." 

"  Oh,  Henry,"  she  cried,  bursting  into  tears,  "  how  can 
you  speak  so?  I  am  sure  1  love  the  poor;  where  have 
you  ever  seen  me  shrink  from  them  ? — or  from  serving 
them  ?  But  this  girl,  so  common — so  vulgar,  so  low — 
how  could  you  dine  with  her? — how  could  you  so  de- 
mean yourself?  " 

"I  told  you,"  he  said,  "she  would  not  escape  your 
scorn  ;  I  now  tell  yon  that  she  is  neither  low  nor  vulgar, 
and  that  I  have  never  seen  a  more  refined,  modest  young 
girl." 

"  Oh,  Henry  !  "  said  Cecilia,  quickly,  with  a  face  where 
indignation,  scorn  and  reproach  were  all  blended. 

"  It  id  true !  "  he  continued.  "  By  heaven,  you  women 


I 


68  THE    ITALIAN  GIRL. 

are  all  down  on  any  one  of  your  sex  who  lifts  herself 
above  the  rest  by  winning  an  honest  livelihood  1 " 
.   "  Honest,  Henry  ?" 

"  Yes,  honest!  I  wish  most  of  you  were  as  much  so. 
Hedged  about  as  you  are,  what  do  you  know  of  the  world 
and  its  temptations?  What  do  you  do  to  earn  your 
living?  What  equivalent  do  you  give  for  all  you  have 
received?  Lapped  in  idle  luxury,  what  do  you  know  of 
the  struggle  for  mere  existence  ?  I  honor  the  hewers  of 
wood  and  drawers  of  water  more  than  those  who  know 
only  how  to  put  their  lips  to  the  fountain  and  drink  ! " 

"  But  I  do  not  call  her  life  labor,"  said  Cecilia,  con- 
temptuously. 

"Yes,  it  is,  genuine  labor! — and  fairly  and  squarely 
undergone !  She  gives  what  she  can,  works  bard  for 
her  daily  bread,  and  she  deserves  praise  for  it,  and  ad- 
miration!" 

"Which  you  bestow  on  her  freely,"  said  Cecilia. 
"  Would  you  like  me  to  dance  nightly  on  horseback  be- 
fore a  crowd  of  common  men  ?  " 

"  No,  I  should  not — because  you  were  brought  up  to 
something  better." 

"  Then  you  do  grant  that  is  not  the  highest  vocation?  " 

"For  her,  I  think  it  is!" 

"You  are  unkind,  cruel!"  cried  Cecilia;  "you  know 
you  make  me  wretched ;  you  love  to  torture  me  !  That  is 
precisely  a  man's  notion  of  power,  to  tyrannize  over  a 
weak  woman  who  loves  foolishly — blindly — and — " 

"  Why  are  you  weak  ?  It  is  your  own  fault !  Why  do 
you  love  foolishly  and  blindly  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  say  I  was  weak — I  did  not  allude  to  myself 
in  any  way  1 " 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  69 

"N"o,  but  ycur  remark  implied  that  you  meant  your- 
self!" 

"  I  am  tired  of  this  war  of  words ;  you  may  go  when 
you  choose,  Henry !  " 

"  Will  you  go  with  me  ?  " 

"  No ! " 

"Well,  good-by,  then!"  He  went  toward  the  door. 
She  longed  to  stop  him,  but  a  thousand  passions  were 
warring  in  her  breast. 

"  Henry,"  she  said,  "  will  you  not  come  home  to  din- 
ner?" 

"I  cannot  tell — good-by!"  and  he  closed  the  door. 
She  wanted  to  run  after  him,  and  beg  him,  "  Forgive  me, 
Henry!"  and  say,  "  Kiss  me  before  you  go  !"  but  while 
she  hesitated,  the  outer  door  closed  also — he  was  gone  ! 

She  threw  herself  down  on  the  sofa,  and  wept  like  a 
child  ;  ihen  she  sat  quite  still,  and  thought  over  all 
Henry  had  said.  He  had  been  hard,  cruel,  but  was  he 
not  just,  too  ?  Had  she  not  treated  with  scorn  a  person 
who  did  not  merit  it  ?  Had  she  not  in  anger  called  her 
low  and  vulgar,  when  the  superiority  of  her  bearing  had 
particularly  impressed  her  !  And  that  uncommon  look 
the  young  girl  had ! — might  she  not,  poor  thing,  be 
striving  to  gain  her  livelihood  amid  a  thousand  tempta- 
tions ?  Was  she  not  far  superior  to  herself,  who  did 
nothing  ? 

"'Tis  that  Henry  dislikes  in  me-*-my  idleness — my 
purposeless  existence — but  what  can  I  do  ?  I  have  been 
brought  up  to  do  nothing.  I  have  no  decided  talents, 
as  Mary  has;  mere  reading  is  not  enough;  besides,  read- 
ing is  optional,  it  cannot  always  arrest  and  fix  the  atten- 
tion. There  is  no  use  in  reading,  but  to  cultivate  our 


70  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

minds;  and  what  is  the  use  of  culture,  after  all ?  What 
does  it  avail  when  we  come  to  die?  And  then,  I  might 
read  all  my  life,  yet  there  is  so  much  to  know,  I  should 
still  he  ignorant!  Oh,  I  wish  I  were  this  llosa!  I 
should  be  so  much  happier  than  I  :im!  She  bestows 
pleasure,  and  wins  applause,  to  her  heart's  content !  She 
attracts  everybody,  and  what  most  seemed  her  misfor- 
tune, ij,  in  fact,  her  happiness. 

"I  have  betray«d  every  mean  pnssion,  while  talking 
with  Henry — j  alou^y,  envy,  anger,  uukindness,  un char- 
itableness. I  will  try  and  grow  better,  and  prove  myself 
more  worthy  of  his  love, — his  love  which  I  would  have 
so  entirely!  I  should  not  wonder  if  he  hated  me — I 
must  rise  above  myself — but  oh,  it  is  all  so  hard !  "  Cecilia 
said,  as  she  moved  toward  the  stairs. 

When  she  reached  her  room  she  glanced  at  the  glass; 
the  color  came  back  to  her  cheek,  for  she  saw  a  young 
and  pretty  face  reflected  there.  She  was  smiling  at  her 
own  folly,  when  there,  stole  into  her  mind  those  words  of 
the  fairy  tale — where  the  fairy  queen  asks  of  her  mirror, 
"Who  is  the  loveliest  in  all  the  land  ?*'—"  You,  lady 
queen,  are  the  fairest  here!  but  the  snowdrop  is  a  thou- 
sand times  fairer  still!"  Cecilia  sighed  as  she  thought 
that  the  mirror  might  well  answer  her,  "But  Rosi  is  a 
thousand  times  fairer  still!"  Did  he  think  so?  she 
pondered, — did  Henry  ever  compare  them  in  his  mind  ? 
She  shuddered  to  think  the  only  person,  she  hud  ever 
been  jealous  of  was — a  circus  rider! 

"  How  strange  it  is!  Yet  Henry  was  right  here,  tool 
for  it  does  hurt  my  pride  of  blood,  a  certain  prejudice 
will  rise  and  whisper  that  I  am  her  superior. — \\inle 
before  God,  the  best  and  supreme  judge,  it  is  not  sol 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  f] 

He  will  weigh  our  sonls,  careless  of  our  lineage !  That 
I  know— and  yet  the  feelings  of  this  earth,  and  its  false 
estimates,  are  strong  in  me  !" 

Gec.lia  had  hardly  time  to  dress  before  she  heard  Hen- 
ry's step  in  the  hall  once  more.  He  had  come  to  dinner, 
then, — he  had  a  good  heart!  She  ran  out  and  called  to 
him  over  the  balusters.  lie  only  looked  up  and  said 
he  was  tired,  that  he  hoped  dinner  was  ready.  Cecilia 
rang  the  bell. 

"John,  serve  dinner  immediately!  Mr.  Elliot  is  in 
haste/'  She  went  slowly  down  stairs. 

"  Wht  re  is  Mary  ?  "  said  Mr.  Elliot,  as  they  sat  down 
by  the  table. 

"I  do  not  know,"  Cecilia  said,  looking  steadfastly 
into  her  plate  ;  "  she  went  out  early,  and  has  not  come 
home  since." 

'•'  Why  did  you  not  go  with  her?" 

'•I  did  not  feel  like  it." 

"  You  do  not  care  for  health,  or  for  beauty !  You  throw 
away  all  the  weapons  God  has  given  you,  and  yet  you 
expect  to  win  the  battle!" 

"Henry!"  she  began  reproach  full  y,  and  tears  rushed 
to  her  eyes — but  John  was  just  coming  in,  so  she  looked 
down  again  as  if  studying  with  intense  interest  the 
flowers  traced  upon  tue  porcelain. 

Henry  had  glanced  at  her,  and  seen  her  eyes  yet 
swollen  with  the  ivcent  tears  :  he  felt  vexed  and  annoyed. 
The  dinner  proceeded  in  silence,  a  few  brief  questions 
meeling  answers  as  brief — just  enough,  as  they  fancied, 
to  throw  dust  in  the  servant's  eyt^s,  who  perceived,  how- 
ever, the  signs  of  sorrow  on  his  young  mistress's  face, 
and  sympathized  with  her  in  her  troubles. 


72  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

At  length  the  dinner  was  over,  and  they  rose  to  leave 
the  room  ;  Henry  lighted  a  cigar. 

Cecilia  louked  at  her  husband.  She  felt  that  she  had 
failed.  All  her  good  resolutions  seemed  fr6zen  within 
her.  Could  she  not  warm  them  into  life  again  ?  Could 
she  not  conquer  herself,  and  win  back  her  husband's 
smile  ?  She  resolved  to  make  one  more  effort. 

"  Did  you  have  a  pleasant  walk  to-day,  Henry  ?  "  she 
said. 

"  Yes,  rather  pleasant,"  he  replied,  abstractedly. 

"  Was  not  the  weather  lovely  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  beautiful  day."  He  looked  at  his  watch. 
Her  heart  throbbed.  Would  he  leave  her  again  alone  ? 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  come  with  me  to  the  circus  to- 
night ?  There  is  to  be  a  new  feat  performed,  and  I  think 
it  will  be  worth  seeing." 

"  Who  is  to  perform  this  novel  feat  ?  " 

"  Miss  Thornton  !  " 

"  Why  do  you  not  call  her  the  Signorina  Rosa  ?* 

"Because  I  prefer  her  English  name  !  " 

"  She  does  not  make  use  of  it  herself." 

"  Pardon  me,  it  is  the  name  she  bears !  n 

"Not  on  the  bills." 

"  I  cannot  eay,  I  never  examined  them." 

"Whom  are  you  going  with  ?"  asked  Cecilia,  hoarsely. 

"  I  do  not  know  yet     Will  you  come  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  no!  I  do  not  cure  for  it,  I  have  seen  her 
once  ;  it  is  the  same  thing  over  and  over ! " 

"You  look  on  her  with  prejudiced  eyes!  Now,  I  have 
never  seen  her  do  anything  twice  in  the  same  way! 
There  is  a  wonderful  variety  both  in  expression  and 
movement ! " 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  73 

*•  It  seems,  indeed,  that  in  your  eyes,  '  custom  cannot 
stale  her  infinite  variety  ! ' ' 

"  Complete  the  quotation — the  first  half  is  quite  as  ap- 
propriate as  the  last,  not  yet  certainly  can  (  age  wither 
her,' "  said  Henry,  laughing  good-naturedly. 

At  least  he  had  laughed — Cecilia  half  relented ;  he 
could  not  be  so  deeply  interested,  if  he  could  laugh — and 
Ilenry'a  laugh  was  so  pleasant !  She  looked  up  and  for 
the  moment  caught  his  eye ;  alas,  all  the  cheery  bright- 
ness had  vanished,  there  was  nothing  but  coldness  there ! 
What  was  this  wall  which  had  risen  so  suddenly  betwixt 
them  ?  Her  heart  seemed  to  dash  against  it,  but  it  was 
hard  and  chill,  and  on  the  one  side  was  Henry,  on  the 
other  herself!  She  longed  to  spring  up,  and  fling  her 
arms  about  his  neck  ;  bat  she  dared  not.  Henry  hated 
scenes.  As  Cecilia  hesitated,  Henry  rose. 

"Are  you  going?  "  she  said  reproachfully.  "Mary  is 
out,  and  it  is  so  lonely  for  me." 

"  I  asked  you  to  come  with  me." 

"Yes,  but  I  do  not  wish  to  go  there;  only  to  witness 
your  admiration  of  another." 

"  Am  I,  because  I  am  married,  to  be  always  tied  to 
one  woman's  side  ?  " 

"You  took  a  vow,  when  you  married  me,  and  it  was 
this,  leaving  all  others  to  cleave  only  unto  me ;  you  seem 
to  have  forgotten  that  1 " 

"  Those  words  are  but  empty  forms  which  have  to  be 
undergone.  They  mean  nothing  I  " 

"  Henry  ! " 

"  Nothing  at  all  1 " 

"  And  '  for  better,  for  worse,  in  sickness,  and  in  health,' 
means  nothing,  then  ?  " 

4 


74  THE  ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"Well,  no;  they  do  not  mean  mnch  1  Nobody — who  is 
sick — ought  to  keep  another  bound  to  him ;  and  if  wed- 
lock turn  out  for  the  worse,  instead  of  the  better,  why,  in 
that  case,  I  think  the  best  would  be  to  separate  at  once  1 n 

''  Then  you  openly  confess  that  you  believe  in  no 
divine  laws?" 

"  I  believe  in  the  divine  law  of  freedom." 

"  And  of  marriage  ?  " 

"Marriage  is  no  divine  law  I  It  is  a  con  tract  instituted 
by  man,  for  the  good  of  society;  its  single  aim  is  to 
benefit  the  children  that  may  b3  born  of  it;  where  there 
are  no  children,  marriage  becom  -s  a  contract  without  a 
purpose,  a  useless  bond  ;  from  the  moment,  that  is,  the 
parties  concerned  so  hold  it." 

'•  Henry,  you  are  breaking  down  all  that  is  high  and 
holy;  you  are  defiling  the  most  sacred  laws;  you  know 
that,  though  spoken  by  man,  they  were  inspired  by  God 
himself!  I  am  sure  you  do  not  mean  what  you  say;  you 
are  only  bent  on  torturing  me,  and  you  do,  indeed  torture 
me  !  I  am  tired  of  these  mystical  metaphysics;  tired  of 
profane  thoughts;  tired  of  everything  !  " 

"If  I  am  my  own  iconoclast,  I  have  no  one  but  my- 
self to  blame,"  said  Henry,  coldly. 

"  Yes,"  cried  Cecilia,  "I  hute  your  scientific  skepticism. 
It  is  worse  than  the  lowest  superstition.  A  Juggernaut 
is  better  than  no  God." 

"A  mirage,  then,  that  leads  you  from  your  track,  is 
belter  than  honest  thirst.  I  know  your  woman's  doctrine 
well,"  said  Henry,  "that  a  belief  in  a  lie  is  holier  than  a 
belief  in  nothing.  You  prize  your  stulFed  lap-dog  more 
than  our  modern  analysis  which  has  civilized  the  world. 
For  my  part,  I  hold  the  humblest  truth  worth  all  yuur 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  75 

religions  anil  moralities  !     Good  evening  1"  and  taking 
up  his  hat,  he  left  the  room. 

Cecilia  sat  staring  blankly  before  her;  where  was  he, 
her  Henry?     Had  he  really  left  her  thus?    Starting  up, 
she  paced  the  floor;  then  let  her  face  fall  upon  her 
hands,  and  burst  into  passionate  sobs. 
The  door  opened  ;  it  was  Mary. 
"  Why,  Cecilia,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 
"  Oh,  Mary,  come  and  comfort  me  I    I  am  so  mis- 
erable ! " 

<;  What  has  happened  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Mary,  where  were  you  all  the  day  ?  Had  you  been 
here  at  dinner  it  Avould  not  have   been   so  dreadful. 
Henry  has  been  so  cruel,  aud  he  has  gone  again  to  see  her!" 
"  To  see  whom?" 

"  Her! — you  know ! — that  bad  girl — that  circus-girl! '» 

Mary  smiled,  she  could  not  help  it,  as  the  vision  of 

poor  liosa's  delicate  distinguished  face  rose  before  her, 

so  little  in  keeping  truly  with  her  profession,  and  so 

unlike  Cecilia's  description. 

"  What  bad  girl  do  you  mean  ?  " 
"Oh,  you  arc  all  leagued  against  me!    Now  you  are 
going  to  take  Henry's  part;  you  know  perfectly  well 
whom  I  mean — that  Rosa  !     Mary,  he  has  gone  again  to 
see  her  at  the  circus  ! " 

"  Did  he  not  ask  you  to  go  ?  " 
"Yes,  but  I  did  not  wish  to  !" 

"Tlien.  the  fault  is  yours!  Now,  Cecilia,  I  am  going 
to  scold  you.  You  are  ungrateful ! — you  are  quanvling 
with  yourself! — and,  in  the  first  place,  you  have  been 
putting  out  your  own  stars — yon  have  been  crying  all 
day  1 " 


76  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

"  How  do  you  know  that?  " 

"  By  that  faculty  which  teaches  me  to  distinguish 
colors,  my  dear !  Why  your  eyes  are  red  as  they  can  be  ! 
You  know  men  hate  tears — that  they  have  no  patience 
with  them." 

"  They  are  the  creators  of  them,  why  should  they  not 
bear  with  them  ?  Does  a  mother  hate  her  own  children  ?  " 

"You  cannot  reason  in  that  way,  Cecilia!  It  is  just 
what  Henry  would  love  to  call  illogical ;  men,  you  know, 
are  not  women  ! " 

"  Indeed  they  are  not ! "  cried  Cecilia ;  "  they  are  not 
half  so  good,  so  generous,  so  forbearing !  " 

"  No,  they  are  not,"  said  Mary,  "  and  there,  as  Henry 
says,  you  strike  a  truth.  But  as  I  said  before,  men  hate 
tears." 

"They  are  unjust,  cruel  tyrants,"  broke  in  Cecilia. 

"  I  think  men  often  are  tyrannical,"  continued  Mary ; 
"but  theoretically,  at  least,  they  are  often  just.  They 
have  larger  outlooks  than  we,  and  they  see  more  clearly; 
while  we  flourish  our  parlor  brushes,  they  sweep  with 
brooms;  more  dust  may  fly  benea'h  their  hands  than 
ours,  but  there  is  a  cleaner,  wider  space  left,  when  all's 
done." 

"  But  why,  Mary,  should  they  hate  tears  after  mar- 
riage ;  when  before  it,  they  are  touched  by  them,  and 
kiss  them  away  ?  " 

"  Why,  Cecilia,  you  ought  to  answer  all  those  questions 
yourself,  not  ask  me;  you  are  married — I  am  single!" 

"  Yes,  Mary,  but  you  know  so  much  more  than  I !  " 

"  Well,  then,  the  reason  I  think  is  this :  women  are 
born  for  sentiment  and  love;  these  arc  their  elements, 
their  normal  state.  Not  so  with  men.  They  begin  life 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  71 

with  a  drum,  women  with  a  doll ;  one  makes  a  noise 
with  his  plaything,  the  other  lulls  and  fondles  hers,  and 
BO  it  goes  on.  Boys  learn  to  swim,  ride,  row,  while  girls 
lisp  poetry,  nestled  at  their  mothers'  feet.  Our  brothers, 
even  in  childhood,  are  wrestling  with  the  world ;  we 
stand  apart  and  gaze  in  wonder  at  them ;  we  study  at 
home  for  the  most  part,  while  they  go  forth  to  college, 
to  compete  with  one  another  for  its  prizes.  And  then 
comes  real  work;  hitherto  they  have  been  training,  but 
at  length  they  feel  themselves  started  in  the  great  race 
of  manhood  for  the  givat  goal,  success.  It  is  now  in 
their  onward  course  that  they  see  a  flower  by  the  way- 
side. They  long  to  gather  and  make  it  their  own.  It  is 
no  staff  they  look  for  to  support  their  steps,  but  merely  a 
sweet  nosegay  to  gladden  them  on  their  way  ;  they  pause 
in  their  eager  pursuits,  and  pluck  the  flower,  brush 
off  the  dew-drops  that  freshened  it,  and  press  on  once 
more  in  the  hot  strife  of  man  to  man.  They  mean  to  be 
comforted  by  that  little  flower,  not  weakened  or  re- 
tarded; they  have  vouchsafed  time  to  cull,  they  can 
spare  none  to  cherish  it.  No,  it  must  bloom  beside 
them  and  for  them,  but  not  expect  their  aid  ;  it  will 
rarely  get  it ! " 

"And  do  you  not  think  all  this  very  selfish?"   ex- 
claimed Cecilia. 

"  Not  necessarily  so,  but  it  may  lead  to  selfishness." 
"But  is  not  such  a  life  misery  for  a  woman  ?  " 
"  I  do  not  think  so.    You  cannot  escape  from  your 
nature;   therefore,  accept  it.    Give  out  all  the  fragrance 
you  can !    From  a  flower  becomes  a  tree  of  many  blos- 
soms !     Intoxicate  him  with  a  thousand  perfumes  I " 
"Oh,  Mary  1" 


78  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL, 

"  Yes,  I  mean  it ;  you  are  too  coy,  too  shy,  too  cold  1 " 

"I  cold?" 

"  Yes,  Cecilia;  yon  are  ice !  There  is  more  fire  in  one 
glance  of  that  young  girl's  eye,  as  she  dunces  on  her  horse, 
than  your  whole  life  has  kindled!  I  tell  you  you  smother 
what  you  think  might  burn ;  for  fear  of  a  fl.ime  you  put 
out  the  fire!  You  seek  to  illuminate — why  do  you  deem 
it  wicked  to  warm  ?  You  believe  the  Platonic  philoso- 
phy a  better  teacher  than  the  hints  of  the  Greek  goddess 
— but  men  1'ke  fire ! " 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"They  must  like  it!  I  like  it.  Every  one  likes  it  who 
likes  inspiration,  who  loves  light,  warmth,  creative 
power.  'Tis  that  which  gives  intensity  to  art,  to  poetry; 
which  burns  into  a  race  until  a  Sluikspeare  bursts  forth, 
born  of  an  imprisoned  heat;,  that  helps  Galileo  feel  the 
earth  moving  through  the  stillness  around  him;  that 
bids  Michael  Angelo  bivathe  in  marble,  and  set  the  Pan- 
theon in  the  sky!  Fire!  What  is  it,  but  the  signal  of 
vitality,  the  very  emblem  of  the  inspired  soul?" 

"But,  Mary,  Christ  had  no  fire.     He  was  cold." 

"He  had  a  great  inward  light,  that  lit  with  glory  the 
past  and  the  future — in  whose  soft  flame  the  frozen 
hearts  of  centuries  grew  warm  !  Do  not  say  he  had  no 
fire!" 

"  Well,  I  do  not  know  how  it  is,  Mary,  but  I  am  sure 
the, coldest  things  often  please  the  most.  Look  at  those 
statues  we  saw  in  the  Vatican,  chiseled  in  perpeiual 
snow!  Look  at  the  Jungfrau,  whose  summit  never  niclt?, 
yet  for  that  very  reason  is  admired  ;  at  the  Greek  diaina, 
or  Alfieri's  lifeless  tragedies;  at  the  m-irble  c.ithedral  in 
Milan; — can  anything  be  colder?  Or  the  stillness  of 


THE    ITALIAN   GIRL.  79 

the  Mediterranean ;  or  the  sombre  shadow  of  Lake  Lu- 
cerne ;  or,  to  crown  everything,  at  our  hero,  Washington  ! 
There,  I  have  cited  for  you  some  part  of  the  world's 
riches ! " 

"  Dear  Cecilia,  do  not  deceive  yourself !  Your  cathe- 
dral is  the  perfect  type  of  grandeur  united  with  grace  ; 
its  roof  a  petrified  flower  garden,  its  spires  all  pointing 
heavenward;  why,  the  whole  expression  and  the  form 
mean  warmth,  although  the  tint  may  be  cold;  every 
statue  you  stopped  to  muse  over  was — if  worthy  of  your 
gaze — instinct  with  the  fiery  soul  of  its  creator,  who,  not 
being  a  god,  could  bestow  on  it  only  form,  not  breath; 
A'fieri's  plays,  it  is  true,  are  chiseled,  but  surely  they  are 
impassioned;  they  are  intense,  even,  like  himself;  and, 
if  I  must  follow  you,  the  Mediterranean,  when  calmest, 
is  fraught  with  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow  ;  and,  as  for 
your  Jnngfrau,  she  is  really  fair  only  when  she  glows  in 
the  sunshine!  And — what  more  did  yo'u  say ?  Wash- 
ington, and  Lucerne?  Why,  the  lake  is  passion  itself — 
dark,  mysterious,  dreamy — like  a  magnificent  Sybil;  and 
Washington — well,  what  shall  I  say  for  him  ? — He  had, 
at  least  the  passion  of  patriotism." 

"I  do  not  care  for  him,  at  all,"  said  Cecilia,  petulantly. 

"  No !    Just  because  he  was  cold." 

"  But  I  do  care  for  Henry.  Do  you  think,  Mary — tell 
me  the  truth — that  if  he  loved  me,  he  would  go  out,  and 
stay  out  ?  " 

"  I  think,  Cecilia,  that  you  must  be  patient,  cheerful 
always,  indulgent,  show  no  jealousy,  and,  above  all, 
never  spoil  your  pretty  face  with  tears;  it  makes  you 
ugly,  and  your  home  dull." 

"  You  are  frightfully  frank,  Mary  I " 


80  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"  You  asked  my  opinion,  and  I  give  it  to  you  for  what 
it  is  worth.  Let  Henry  have  more  freedom.  Believe 
ine,  dear  sister,  this  is  good  advice ;  men  hate  fetters." 

"Men  hate  everything,"  rejoined  Cecilia. 

"Everything  that  they  do  not  like,  certainly,"  said 
Mary,  smiling. 

"And  I  hate  men,"  said  Cecilia,  "with  all  my  heart!" 

"  Now  that  is  just  the  spirit  I  would  have  you  in.  Do 
anything,  dear,  so  that  you  do  it  intensely!  That  is 
what  men  like ! " 

"No,  Mary;  you  said  a  moment  ago  that  they  hated 
emotions." 

/     "  They  love  emotional  women,  but  they  detest  a  parade 
^  of  the  emotions." 

"  I  cannot  see  the  distinction ;  besides,  I  think  it  a 
mean  aim  to  study  nothing  but  their  pleasure.  Are  they 
the  lords  of  creation,  pray,  and  we  their  skvcs?" 

"  In  our  souls,  Cecilia,  I  fear  it  is  pretty  much  so.  1 
think  we  are  at  too  great  pains  to  please  them,  and  care 
too  little  to  do  well  for  its  own  sake.  For  that  reason," 
she  continued,  blushing,  "I  have  forsworn  all  men, 
and  mean  to  die  a  maid.  I  will  live  for  the  truth — not 
for  a  man.  The  aim  certainly  does  not  seem  romantic, 
yet  in  such  a  life,  after  all,  there  is  a  dash  of  romance. 
It  may  afford  misery  enough,  I  dare  say,  to  com:  ose  an 
interesting  biography.  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  very  late,"  said  Cecilia,  looking  at  the  clock 
anxiously;  "I  think  it  is  time  for  Henry  to  be  at 
home." 

"Do  be  patient,  dear  sister;  do  not  worry." 

"  If  he  had  gone  anywhere  but  to  see  her,  I  could  be 
patient" 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  81 

"  But  you  know,  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  he  is  faith- 
ful and  true  to  you.  Trust  him  !  There  he  cornea  I  I 
shall  run  aAvay.  Now,  don't  reproach  him." 

It  was  Henry.    He  came  home  tired.    Cecilia  did  not 
reproach  him,  but  greeted  him  timidly.    He  replied 
curtly,  glanced  at  his  watch,  and  went  up  stairs. 
4* 


CHAPTER  VII. 

0  Rosa  that  evening  had  been  eventful.    For 
weeks  playbills  and  placards  had  proclaimed 
that  on  this  occasion  La  Signorina  Rosa  would 
accomplish  her  celebrated  feat  of  leaping  three 
banks  of  roses. 

There  was  a  great  rush  for  seats,  and  the  amphitheatre 
was  early  thronged.  Among  the  audience  that  sat 
eagerly  expectant  of  the  moment  when  Rosa  should  ap- 
pear, were  many  persons  rarely  seen  at  a  circus,  whom 
her  uncommon  grace  and  beauty  had  drawn  thither 
Young  swells,  armed  with  lorgnette  and  eye-glass,  at- 
tended to  glorify  the  scene,  and  ladies  of  the  first  fashion 
ranged  along  the  front  rows  lent  a  brilliant  edging  to 
the  audience. 

Livingstone,  with  Phillips  and  Elliot,  were  standing 
near  the  entrance  through  which  Rosa  was  to  pass  into 
the  ring.  They  had  come  late,  knowing  she  would  not 
make  her  appearance  until  some  time  after  the  spectacle 
had  begun. 

It  was  now  nine  o'clock.  The  Signorina  had  not  yet 
entered,  and  the  more  candid  spectators,  with  whistle, 
cry,  and  the  harmonious  heel,  modestly  hinted  their  im- 
putience. 

"  This  is  an  insufferable  bore,"  said  Mr.  Elliot. 

'  It  is  just  what  I  like,"  exckimed  Phillips.    "  I  don't 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  8^ 

object  to  the  proximity  of  the  grooms.  The  scent  of  the 
stables  that  hangs  round  them  still  invests  them  with  a 
certain  dignity — yes,  what  they  call  the  dignity  of  labor. 
Hullo!  what  are  they  doing?  Eeal  roses!  OldCinizelli 
is  simply  ruining  himself." 

They  had  brought  into  the  circle  three  banks  (so  they 
were  called  in  theatrical  parlance)  of  fresh  roses,  and 
ranged  them  a  few  inches  apart.  At  once  Eosa  rode 
Bruno  into  the  ring.  This  evening  she  was  to  appear 
only  en  Amazone,  for  this  single  feat  was  all  sh  meant 
to  attempt. 

Dressed  in  plain  black  velvet,  with  the  cross  of  Savoy 
embroidered  in  gold  on  her  skirt  and  a  little  jockey  cap 
trimmed  Avith  roses  on  her  head,  she  looked  enchanting. 

Bruno's  neck  likewise  Avas  garlanded  Avit  i  roses ;  and 
as  the  young  girl  passed  Mr.  Livingstone,  he  noticed  that 
the  handle  of  her  whip  was  adorned  with  the  same  floAvers. 

With  a  hurried  glance  and  a  faint  bow  to  our  friends, 
she  rode  Bruno  up  to  the  triple  hedge.  "  Smell  them, 
Bruno,"  she  whispered;  "  they  are  SAveet."  Then  back- 
ing him  round  the  ring,  she  made  him  rehrarse  all  the 
tours  and  poses  of  his  repertoire.  Still  keeping  time 
to  the  music,  she  turned  him  once  more  toward  the 
hedge,  then  suddenly  quickening  his  pace  and  touching 
him  with  the  whip,  she  cleared  the  roses  at  a  bound. 
Rounding  the  circle  at  a  hard  gallop,  she  again  urged 
her  horse  over  the  hedge.  Without  Avaiting  to  acknow- 
ledge the  applause  which  greeted  her  success,  she  rode 
forward  at  increased  peed  for  a  third  and  last  essay  of 
her  skill.  Bruno  rose  gallantly,  but  his  foot  caught  in 
the  last  bank,  and  when  he  had  freed  himself — Eosa  was 
no  longer  in  the  saddle. 


84  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

The  faithful  animal  turned  toward  her,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment stood  perfectly  still,  then  trembled  intensely,  while 
his  nostrils  dilated  and  his  eyes  were  eloquent  of  grief. 
Could  he  have  spoken,  he  would  have  called  her  tenderly 
by  name. 

Livingstone  and  his  friends  had  witnessed  the  fall. 
George  likewise,  the  poor  clown,  had  seen  it  and  darted 
toward  her  with  a  cry.  Another  moment,  and  the  ushers 
had  closed  around  her.  She  was  apparently  unconscious, 
and  all  could  perceive,  as  she  was  borne  away,  that  she 
did  not  move  hand  or  foot.  The  audience  surged  for- 
ward ;  there  was  a  buzz  of  voices,  then  breathless  silence. 
At  last  the  clown  came  out,  deadly  pale  under  his  paint, 
and  his  voice  shook  as  he  said : 

"Monsieur  Cinizelli  desires  me  to  announce  to  the 
audience  an  iut-rmission  often  minutes,  after  which  the 
evening's  entertainment  will  proceed  as  usual.  Monsieur 
Cinizelli  wishes  me  to  say  also  that  the  young  lady  is 
not  seriously  injured,  and  to  thank  the  audience  for 
their  kind  interest  in  her  welfare,  as  well  as  for  their 
general  patronage." 

"  Bravo !  bravo ! "  they  shouted.  "  Let's  have  her  out. 
Rosa!  Rosa!  show  yourself!  Let's  see  that  you  are  not 
hurt!  Rosa!  Rosa!" 

Again  the  clown  came  forward,  and  there  was  silence. 

"  Mr.  Cinizelli  begs  me  to  say  that  the  young  lady  is 
grateful  for  your  kindness,  but  she  positively  cannot  ap- 
pear again  to-night.  She  has" sprained  her  foot." 

"  Let's  have  a  funny  speech ! "  roared  some  boys. 
"Puffy,  give  us  a  fool's  speech!"  But  tho  poor  clown 
turned  his  back  and  walked  slowly  away,  muttering  some- 
thing, of  which  "  Fools  yourselves  "  was  alone  audible. 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  85 

"By  thunder!  he's  insulting  ns!"  shouted  a  young 
man  near  the  ring,  a  large,  rough  butcher-boy. 

"Let's  over  and  go  for  him.  Let's  have  his  hide  for  a 
calf-skin."  So  saving,  he,  with  three  of  his  comrades, 
sprang  into  the  circle  and  caught  George  by  the  neck. 
It  was  all  done  in  a  moment,  but  the  poor  fellow  turned 
quickly,  and  with  a  dexterous  movement,  of  which  he 
was  master,  tripped  his  foremost  opponent  and  threw  him 
down. 

"Down  with  the  clown!  Down  with  him!"  yelled 
the  others,  en  nged  by  the  temporary  opposition,  and 
fell  on  him  with  such  force  that  in  another  second  he 
was  under  their  feet,  struggling  in  vain  to  rise.  He  was 
in  their  power  now,  and  one  of  them  raising  his  stick 
had  just  brought  it  down  with  a  heavy  thwack  on  his 
back,  when  Livingstone  leaped  over  the  railing  and 
caught  the  man's  hand  as  it  was  lifted  for  another  blow. 

"Three  'gainst  one,"  he  said.  "  Cowards !  stand  back, 
or  I'll  give  you  a  thrashing  you'll  not  forget  for  the  rest 
of  your  lives;  stand  back,  I  say." 

"  Fair  play !  fair  play ! "  began  to  be  heard  from  the 
crowd,  and  the  ruffians  fell  back.  At  this  moment,  the 
attention  of  the  spectators  was  arrested  and  the  tumult 
suddenly  hushed  by  the  reappearance  of  Rosa.  She 
leaned  over  the  uulucky  clown  and  helped  him  to  rise. 

"  Are  you  hurt,  George  ? "  she  said ;  then  turned 
swiftly  on  the  man  who  had  assailed  him.  She  was  very 
pale,  and  her  eyes  flashed  as  she  cried,  quivering  with 
excitement:  "Go  back,  you  cowards!  this  ring  is  ours! 
it  is  mine!  Go  back  where  you  have  a  right  to  stand, 
and  if  you  dare  again  to  pass  the  railing,  you  shall  suffer 
for  it." 


86  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

They  retreated  over  the  barrier,  and  she,  turning  with 
a  smile  to  Mr.  Livingstone,  put  out  her  hand.  "  Thank 
you  !"  she  said  ;  "yon  are  a  kind  friend  to  every  one." 

While  she  was  speaking,  her  face  grew  livid,  and  she 
almost  sank  on  the  ground  in  pain.  "  Lean  on  me,"  he 
said  quickly.  "Miss  Thornton,  take  my  arm." 

She  l>oked  up  at  him  gratefully.  "You  are  not 
ashamed  to  be  seen  with  us,  then  ?"  she  said,  closing  her 
small  white  teeth  on  her  under-lip.  She  leaned  on  him 
heavily,  as  he  assisted  her  out  of  the  ring. 

"  What  an  excitement  we  have  had,"  he  said  ;  "  but  it 
will  soon  be  over  now;  the  cntre-acte  is  almost  past,  and 
the  moment  a  new  feat  is  begun,  the  crowd  will  forget 
everything  else.  There  are  our  friends  Elliot  and 
Phillips.  They  are  waiting  to  see  and  condole  with 
you." 

"  Will  you  take  me  to  my  dressing-room  ?  I  do  not 
think  I  can  speak  to  any  one  just  now.  It  is  foolish,  but 
I  do  feel  very  ill." 

Mr.  Livingstone  looked  down  at  her;  she  was  so 
young,  so  delicate,  and  so  lonely;  with  none  to  protect 
or  care  for  her.  He  felt  all  his  manhood  roused  within 
him  to  succor  and  shield  th  poor  young  thing.  He 
forgot  in  this  moment  her  beauty  and  her  fascinations, 
and  thought  of  her  only  with  pity.  Rosa  felt  instinc- 
tively what  was  passing  in  his  mind. 

"Good-night!"  she  said,  her  face  pale  with  pain. 
'  Good-night!  you  have  been  very  kind  to  George.  J  do 
not  know  how  to  thank  you;  he  deserves  it.  Poor  d<  ai 
Ceo  «r,.;  how  did  the  brutes  dare  touch  him?" 

"You  are  too  ill  to  be  left  alo'xe.    Where  is 
fcfieur  Cini/'  Hi?" 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  87 

"He  was  not  well  enough  to  be  here.  The  manage- 
ment was  left  to  me  to-night,  and  it  was  I  told  George — 
poor  fellow ! — to  go  in  and  quiet  the  audience.  Our 
company  is  so  familiar  with  this  business  that  it  does 
not  need  a  regular  mannger;  but  we  must  have  some 
superior  authority  to  govern  us." 

"  I  will  not  say  good-night  now.  1  will  take  you 
home." 

"I  cannot  walk,"  said  Kosa,  her  voice  broken  by  a 
twinge  of  pain. 

"  I  did  not  mean  you  should.    I  will  get  a  carriage." 

"  Will  it  not  be  too  much  trouble  ?  " 

"It  Avill  be  a  pleasure." 

"  Thank  you.  Then  I  will  change  my  dress  while  you 
are  gone ;  I  will  not  be  long  about  it." 

As  Mr.  Livingstone  turned  to  look  for  his  friends, 
they  joined  him. 

"  You  are  in  luck  to-night,  old  boy,"  said  Phillips. 
"What  have  you  done  with  her?" 

'•'  She  is  in  her  dressing-room." 

"  Were  you  there  with  her  all  this  time  ?  You're  a 
sly  fellow." 

"  I  do  not  care  to  hear  such  remarks/'  said  Living- 
stone, sternly.  "Miss  Thornton  is  ill;  she  is  in  great 
pain.  Mr.  Cinizelli  is  absent,  and  I  am  going  to  find  a 
carriage  and  take  her  home." 

"  You  need  not  go  far.  I  will  take  her.  Luckily  my 
coupe  is  outside.  I  ordered  it  to  wait  My  instincts 
are  always  right.  I  had  an  idea  something  would  hap- 
pen, so  I  told  Isaac  not  to  stir  till  I  came  out." 

"Thanks,"  returned  Mr.  Livingstone,  coldly;  "I  will 
not  trouble  you." 


88  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"  I  say,  Livingstone,  old  boy,  don't  be  offish.  You  may 
drive  home  with  her  yourself,  if  you  will.  I'll  leave  you 
tete-a-tete  and  cool  my  jealousy  in  the  evening  air,  with 
Elliot  for  fellow-sufferer." 

"Thank  you;  I  will  not  deprive  you  of  your  car- 
riage," and  he  passed  on  into  the  street.  The  air  felt 
fresh  and  pleasant  upon  his  flushed  face.  There  had 
been  something  in  Phillips'  manner  which  annoyed  and 
irritated  him.  Phillips  often  did  irritate  him,  and  yet 
he  did  not  like  to  throw  him  over,  for  they  had  been 
college  classmates,  and  Livingstone  had  frequently,  in 
those  old  days,  helped  Phillips  out  of  scnipes  which 
otherwise  would  have  sundered  somewhat  abruptly  his 
connection  with  Harvard. 

Mr.  Livingstone  soon  found  a  carriage,  and  returned 
to  the  circus  for  Eosa.  She  was  waiting  for  him  at  the 
door  of  her  little  tent.  The  curtain  was  raised  and 
everything  within  was  visible.  There  was  a  huge  trunk, 
where  Rosa's  dresses  were  kept,  a  little  dressing-table, 
with  a  mirror  on  it  and  a  bit  of  board,  equipped  with 
three  legs,  by  way  of  chair. 

"Will  you  come  in.?"  said  Rosa,  smiling,  "you  can 
sit  on  the  trunk." 

"No,  thank  you;  the  carriage  is  ready  and  at  your 
service." 

She  tried  to  take  a  step  forward,  but  her  foot  gave 
way  under  her  weight,  and  Mr.  Livingstone  again  offered 
his  arm.  She  moved  slowly  and  held  her  lips  com- 
pressed. They  pa^cd  Klliot  and  Phillips,  who  lifted 
their  hats  and  followed. 

"1  have  been  trying,"  said  Mr.  Phillip?,  «to  persuade 
Livingstone  to  give  you  my  coupe,  Miss  Rosa;  but  ho 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL,  89 

thought  there  was  less  danger  of  infection  in  a  public 
hack." 

Rosa  laughed  ;  but  the  laugh  caught  in  her  throat. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  seriously  hurt  ?"  said  Mr.  Elliot. 

"I  hope  not,"  returned  Rosa,  with  a  doleful  smile. 
"Oh,  how  delightful  the  fresh  air  feels.  What  a  lovely 
night!  Behind  us  we  leave  heat,  weariness,  danger, 
pain — above  us  bends  a  cool,  peaceful  sky  that  seems  the 
perfect  opposite  to  all  below." 

Mr.  Livingstone  opened  the  door  and  helped  her  into 
the  carriage;  then,  looking  in  her  face,  said,  "Shall  I 
come  in  ?" 

"  Oh,  pray  do  not  leave  me  alone,"  and  the  face  turned 
toward  him  was  almost  tearful. 

He  laughed  and  sprang  into  the  carriage. 

The  door  was  shut,  and  with  "  Good-night!"  to  the 
other  gentlemen,  Rosa  sank  back,  exhausted.  Her  eyes 
were  closed,  and  in  the  moonlight  her  face  looked  so 
deadly  pale  that  Mr.  Livingstone  grew  half  frightened. 

For  some  time  she  sat  motionless  ;  at  length,  opening 
hi'r  large,  dark  eyes,  and  fixing  them  on  him  :  "  I  am  glad 
George  was  not  hurt,"  ?he  said,  "  for  his  mother's  sake — 
and  for  his  own — he  is  so  good." 

f(  And  do  you  not  think  of  yourself?  I  trust  that  you, 
too,  are  not  hurt." 

"I  hope  not;  but  the  pain  is  very  great.  I  dare  say 
it  will  pass  away  after  a  good  night's  sleep." 

"  But  I  fear  you  will  not  sleep.  Is  there  any  one  at 
your  lodgings  to  take  charge  of  you?  " 

"No;  no  one." 

"  Poor  child!"  he  said,  kindly;  "you  ought  to  have  a 
mother  with  you." 


90  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

A  large  tear  rolled  silently  down  Rosa's  cheek.    She 
made  no  reply. 

"  Don't  you  think  I  should  go  for  a  doctor  ?    It  would 
be  safer  to  have  him  see  your  foot.    It  may  he  nothing; 
it  may  be  something  serious.    At  any  rate,  it  is  far  better 
to  have  it  examined  at  once." 
"I  do  not  want  a  doctor." 

"No,  but  you  are  a  child:  and  children,  you  know, 
never  want  what  is  good  for  them.    You  must  have  I 
doctor,  and  to-night." 
"It  is  too  late  now,"  said  Rosa. 
"Better  late  than  later.    I  shall  insist  on  it,  and  will 
send  you  a  good  doctor.    He  is  an  old  man,  and  will 
seem  like  a  father  to  you." 
"I  am  glad  he  is  old." 

"  Why  are  you  glad  he  is  old  ?  Do  you  like  old  people 
better  than  the  young?" 

"No,  but  once  I  had  a  doctor,  when  I  was  very  ill  of 
a  fever;  he  was  young— and— "  The  blood  rushed  to 
her  face,  and  Mr.  Livingstone  could  see  that  she  was 
scarlet. 

"And  what?" 

"And— I  did  not  like  him,"  said  Rosa. 
"Poor  child,"  he  said,  half  in  soliloquy. 
"You  are  very  good  to  me,"  she  said;  "you  are  not 
like  the  rest." 

"How  are  the  rest?" 
"  I  do  not  know.    They  are  different." 
He  longed  to  say:  "Which  do  you  prefer?"  but  he 
suppressed  the  desire,  and   bethought  himself  how  low 
and  despicable  it  would  be  to  take  any  advanljigc,  even 
to  gratify  a  moment's  vanity,  of  a  being  so  young  and 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  91 

so  defenseless ;  indeed,  he  felt  infinite  pity  for  her.  It 
was  the  first  time  that  Livingstone  had  ever  found  him- 
self alone  with  a  woman  not  of  his  own  class.  This  fair 
young  creature  had  all  the  instincts  of  a  lady.  It  was 
only  her  profession,  he  told  himself,  which  debarred  her 
from  society,  and  it  awakened  a  sentiment  of  peculiar 
delicacy  to  reflect  how,  completely  unguarded  as  she  was, 
she  yet  maintained  so  much  natural  dignity ;  and  how  few 
men  there  were  who  would  not  abuse  her  very  isolation, 
which  so  saddened  him.  Would  that  he  had  the  right 
to  shield  her  from  rudeness  and  insult ! 

"Miss  Thornton,"  he  said,  after  a  long  pause,  "could 
you  not  live  with  Mine.  Cinizelli  ?  She  would  be  such 
a  protector  to  you." 

" I  should  have  liked  it;  but  Mons.  and  Mme.  Cini- 
zelli are  very  rich,  and  I  could  not  afford  to  live  at  the 
same  rate.  Mme.  Cinizelli  has  invited  me  to  live  with 
them,  but  it  would  wound  my  pride  to  be  dependent  upon 
any  one,  and  besides — "  She  hesitated. 

"  And  besides  ?  " 

"  I  prefer  to  be  alone." 

"May  I  ask  why?" 

"  Because  I  may  do  as  I  please.  I  like  to  read  and 
study,  which  I  would  not  be  free  to  do  living  with  others 
who  have  different  tastes;  and  besides — " 

"And  besides?"  repeated  Livingstone,  smiling. 

"You  will  think  it  strange,  if  I  confess  the  truth." 

"No;  I  love  the  truth — better  than  anything  else  in 
the  world." 

"  "Well,  I  cannot  bear  to  be  continually  with  people 
that  are  not  ladies  and  gentlemen." 

"  But — "    Livingstone  hesitated,  and  said  no  more. 


92  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"But  what?"  exclaimed  Rosa.  "You  moan  that  I 
must  needs,  then,  be  always  alone,  because  I  never  can 
associate  with  ladies  and  gentlemen.  Do  you  imag- 
ine," she  continued,  her  lip  curling,  "that  I  consort 
with  those  men  and  women  whom  you  have  seen  in  our 
troupe  ?  Why,  they  all  hate  me,  because  I  will  never 
talk  with  them.  I  would  not  bow  to  one  of  them  in  the 
streets." 
•  "That  is  hardly  Christian,"  said'Liv'ngstone. 

"I  do  not  care  to  be  Christian  toward  them,"  she 
answered,  reddening.  "  What  have  they  ever  done  for 
me  ?  Have  they  ever  sought  to  lift  me,  or  one  another, 
above  the  level  of  our  vulgar  life?  No;  they  would 
have  me  coarse  and  low,  like  themselves.  I  do  not  know 
why  I  should  be  what  I  am.  I  loathe  every  tiling  about 
me.  I  loathe,  most  of  all,  myself.  I  love  only  my  horse, 
my  Bruno.  He,  at  least,  knows  I  am  not  the  common 
thing  the  world  believes  me.  I  tell  him  everything, 
and  he  understands  it  better  than  others  do."  She  con- 
tinued, in  a  broken  voice,  "Yes,  Bivno  knows  that  I 
follow  this  poor  trade  because  I  am  poor;  that  I  only 
wait  the  chance  of  something  worthier;  that  meanwhile 
I  go  on  riding  for  hire  because  I  have  no  other  means 
of  livelihood.  If  I  tried  to  teach,  people  would  scoff  at 
me,  because  I  had  once  been  a  circus-ridi-r,  and  they 
would  leave  me  to  starve.  I  should  not  mind  that  so 
much  for  myself,  but  there  is  my  mother,  who  might 
starve  too.  If  I  wished  to  go  out  as  a  common  servant, 
no  one  would  take  me."  Here  she  i  roke  down,  and 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

Mr.  Livingstone  Availed  till  she  became  calm.     When 
she   stopped    crying,    he    said,    gently,    "Let  me,   as 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  93 

well  as  Bruno,  be  your  friend.  I  know  all  that  you  con- 
fide to  him.  I  respect  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart, 
and  I  know  well  that  there  is  nothing  in  you  which  is 
not  high  and  noble.  I  know  that  everybody  who  has 
known,  must  wholly  honor  you — must — "  he  stopped,  then 
added,  "  must  long  to  be  of  service  to  you.  Poor  child ! 
thrust  out  into  such  a  lonely  world !  It  seems  to  me  as 
cruel  a  destiny  as  a  little  white  lamb  abandoned  to 
ravening  wolves." 

"  I  show  my  teeth  sometimes,"  returned  Rosa,  looking 
up  at  him  suddenly,  with  a  smile.  "  I  am  much  more 
like  a  lioness  than  a  lamb.  They  are  all  afraid  of  me; 
they  must  and  shall  be  afraid  of  me  ! " 

"  Why  did  not  your  mother  come  here  with  you  ?  " 

Rosa  hastily  turned  her  head  ;-then  answered :  "  I  could 
not  afford  to  pay  her  passage;  but  I  send  home  money 
to  my  mother.  She  is  very  poor.  See,  here  we  are  at 
my  door.  The  drive  was  so  pleasant,  I  almost  forgot 
my  pain.  Oh,  how  shall  I  get  out  ?  I  cannot  rise :  my 
foot  hurts  me  so." 

Mr.  Livingstone  did  not  answer,  but  quietly  lifting 
her  in  his  arms,  bade  the  coachman  wait,  and  carried 
her  up  the  steps.  The  door  was  open. 

"  Where  do  you  go  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Oh,  it  is  up  stairs.    How  kind  you  are." 

He  carried  her  up  one  flight.    "  Another  ?"'  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  and  then  again  another.  Set  me  clown.  I 
weigh  more  than  you  imagined— one  hundred  and  ten 
pounds.  But  really,"  she  continued,  "  I  can  walk  now. 
It  was  only  that  my  ankle  had  stiffened  for  a  moment." 

"  By  no  means.  I  do  not  feel  your  weight  more  than 
a  feather's." 


94  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"That  is  my  door." 

"  Who  takes  you  home  commonly  ?  " 

"Mons.  Cinizelli,  always." 

"  But  when  he  is  ill — as  he  way  to-night — who  then  ?  " 

"  lie  was  never  ill  before.  "Well,  George  would  have 
brought  me  home." 

"  Good-night." 

"Good-night,  Mr.  Livingstone.  I  cannot  express  my 
gratitude  in  words;  you  would  not  believe  them."  She 
did  not  extend  her  hand,  nor  did  he  offer  his.  He  had 
gone. 

Rosa  shut  the  door,  bolted  it,  and  then  began  to  pre- 
pare for  the  night ;  but  her  foot  and  ankle  were  already 
much  swollen,  and  she  had  to  compress  her  lips  tightly 
to  avoid  screaming,  while  loosening  her  boot. 

She  undressed  herself  with  difficulty,  aud  lay  down 
thoroughly  exhausted.  H?r  head  ached,  her  foot  ached. 
She  felt  that  she  could  no'j  sleep.  Her  head  was  tossing 
feverishly  on  the  pillow,  when  she  heard  some  one  stumb- 
ling along  the  hall,  and  "  This  way,  sir."  "  Oh,"  she 
said  to  herself,  "it  is  that  abominable  George."  There 
was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"  Go  away.    I  am  better." 

"But  you  must  open  the  door,  Miss  Rosy." 

" Go  away,  I  say;  my  foot  is  quite  well." 

"But  it  is  the  doctor,  Miss  Rosy,  who  wants  to  come 
in.  I  brought  him." 

Rosa  put  out  her  hand  for  a  Incifer-match,  but  found 
none.  "  Wait  a  minute,"  she  said,  and  groping  in  the 
darkness,  threw  a  dressing-gown  about  her,  made  her 
way  to  the  door,  and  opened  it. 

"Who's  there?  "  she  said,  resolutely. 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  95 

"  'Tis  I,  young  lady.  A  friend  of  yours — Mr.  Living- 
stone— sends  me,  and  his  sympathy.  I  am  to  look  to  a 
certain  broken  ankle,  I  believe ;  but  in  this  darkness  I 
can  see  nothing." 

"I  will  light  a  match,  sir,"  said  a  voice  from  the  hall. 

"  Go  away,  George,  and  shut  the  door  instantly. 
Doctor,  will  you  kindly  strike  this  match  for  me?" 

'•  Pray  don't  send  the  poor  fellow  away.  He  is  quite 
heart-broken  with  your  mishap.  Besides,  I  shall  want 
him  to  get  us  some  medicines.  May  I  tell  him  to 
wait  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  danger  of  his  going,"  said  Eosa,  im- 
patiently. 

"Let  me  see,"  the  doctor  muttered;  "head  slightly 
feverish  ;  pulse  high;  now  for  the  foot.  Ah,  there  is  no 
time  to  lose,  thtfugh  the  sudden  swelling  ought  to  keep 
down  the  pain,  I  fancy.  It  is  not  a  sprain,  my  dear — 
only  a  bruise ;  but  a  very  serious  bruise.  Was  the  pain 
very  sharp  at  the  time  ?  " 

"  I  lost  consciousness,"  said  Rosa,  "  for  a  moment." 

"  "We  must  send  to  the  apothecary's  for  some  aconite 
and  arnica.  May  I  tell  your  servant  ?  " 

"  He  is  not  my  servant." 

"  Your  slave,  then." 

"Nor  that  either,"  laughed  Rosa;  (t  he  is  the  clown  in 
our  circus." 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  in  better  humor.  Your 
laugh  lights  up  your  face  and  makes  you  look  charm- 
ing. Livingstone  was  not  so  far  wrong,  after  all." 

Rosa  blushed. 

"  There,  now  I  understand  the  case,  perfectly,"  con- 
tinued the  doctor,  with  a  smile.  "You  must  lie  quietly 


96  THE  ITALIAN  GIRL. 

in  bed  all  day  to-morrow.    Don't  think  of  getting  np  till 
I  see  you  again." 
"Suppose  you'  were  not  to  come  for  a  week,"  said 


"I  shall  come,  my  dear  young  lady,  sooner  than  that. 
I  shall  come  to-morrow;  and,  meanwhile,  don't  alarm 
yourself;  there  is  nothing  serious  to  be  feared.  In  a  feu- 
days  we  shall  be  all  right  again,  provided  we  lie  still. 
When  your  clown  returns,  just  wet  a  bandage  with  the 
arnica—  you  will  find  it  prepared  for  you—  and  bind 
it  about  your  foot;  keep  your  foot  bathed  all  night  with 
the  same  lotion.  And—  one  thing  more—  drop  a  few 
drops  of  aconite  in  a  glass  of  water,  and  take  a  table- 
spoonful  every  hour." 

"Oh,  please,  doctor,  don't  go  till  the  man  returns. 
There  is  a  drug  shop  very  near  us,  and  he  will  be  here 
again  in  a  moment.  He  is  always  quick  in  his  move- 
ments." 

"  It  is  his  profession,"  said  the  doctor,  smiling.  "  What 
a  pity,"  he  added,  "if  this  pretty  foot  of  ours  could  never 
spring  again  into  the  stirrup." 

"I  should  not  much  care,"  said  Rosa. 

"  I  should." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  me  ride,  doctor  ?  "  Rosa  asked.  Her 
eyes  brightened,  and  her  face,  flushed  as  it  was  with  pain, 
turned  eagerly  toward  her  visitor. 

"  Did  I  ever  see  you  ?  No,  my  little  lady.  Old  fogies, 
you  know,  like  me,  don't  have  much  leisure  to  run  about 
and  amuse  ourselves.  We  leave  all  that  to  the  youthful 
and  lazy  members  of  our  fraternity.  But  I  often  hoar 
you  spoken  of  by  my  young  la  ly  patients.  Some  of  them 
are  quite  wild  about  you,  and  absolutely  catch  the  hor.se- 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  97 

fever  after  seeing  you  caracole  about  the  ring  at  the 
circus." 

"  They  really  give  that  name  to  a  fever  in  Italy, 
doctor.  They  call  any  high  fever  brought  on  by  any 
nervous  excitement — bad-temper,  for  instance  —  the 
horse-fever." 

"  Are  your  Italian  tempers  so  very  bad  that  doctors 
are  called  in  to  mend  them  ?  " 

"Indeed  they  are.  I  was  once  in  such  a  rage  myself 
that  my  friends  applied  twelve  leeches,  put  me  to  bed, 
and  called  a  physician." 

"May  I  ask  if  the  disease  is  a  common  one?"  said 
the  doctor. 

"  Oh,  yes,  very,"  laughed  Rosa ;  but  her  laugh  ceased 
abruptly,  as  it  often  did.  "  You  see,  we  have  such  gusty 
feelings  in  Italy — not  like  yours;  there  all  is  fire — here 
everything  is  ice." 

"  Well,  if  you  should  happen  to  fall  into  one  of  those 
passions,  I  should  like  to  be  sent  for." 

"  I've  no  fear  of  that.  I  fancy  your  climate  chills  one's 
temper.  I  fell  ill  in  Italy,  because  a  man  kicked  and 
beat  my  Bruno — that  is  my  horse,  doctor.  He  had  been 
sent  me  from  England  by  my  father.  You  see,  I  like 
all  animals ;  they  never  hurt  your  feelings  as  human 
beings  do ;  but  I  adore  my  horse.  I  abused  the  man 
fearfully,  I'm  afraid,  for  he  kicked  Bruno  again,  and  then 
I  seized  my  whip  and  lashed  him  with  all  my  might — 
and  then  I  fell  ill." 

The  doctor  laughed  heartily.  There  was  a  knock  at 
Mie  door. 

"  "Will  you  open  it  for  me,  please  ?  "  said  Rosa. 

"  Certainly." 

6 


98  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

The  doctor  opened  the  door,  and  there  stood  poor 
George,  dismay  and  sympathy  written  all  over  his  face 

"  Here  are  the  medicines,"  he  said. 

"  Thank  you ;  I  will  put  them  here,"  said  the  doctor, 
placing  them  on  a  chair  by  the  bedside. 

"Thank  you,  George,"  called  out  Rosa;  "and  thank 
you  very  much,  doctor.  Good-night." 

"Good-night,  my  little  patient.  Your  friend,  Mr 
Livingstone,  is  waiting  for  me  below  in  the  carriage 
What  may  I  say  to  him  ?  " 

"  Tell  him  the  pain  is  gone,"  said  Eosa. 

"What!  before  the  remedies  are  applied?  Injustice 
to  myself,  as  one  who  lives  by  his  profession,  I  can  hardly 
say  that.  Good-night,  once  more,  and  au  rcvoir"  He 
closed  the  door. 

"I  cannot  get  up  and  bolt  it  to-night,"  thought  Eosa. 
"  I  must  trust  to  fate.  I  will  leave  my  candle  burning, 
and  I  dare  say  the  faithful  George  will  watch  without 
till  daybreak.  Poor  fellow!  I  wish  I  might  do  some- 
thing to  make  him  happy." 

Eosa  obeyed  the  doctor's  instructions,  and  then,  being 
indeed  exhausted,  fell  fast  asleep.  It  was  morning  when 
she  was  awakened  by  the  doctor's  voice. 

"  Who  is  there  ?"  she  cried. 

The  door  was  ajar,  and  there  the  doctor  stood  peering 
in,  with  an  air  of  great  good  humor. 

"To  our  profession,"  he  said,  "all  things  are  per- 
mitted. Against  us  neither  bolts  nor  bars  avail." 

"Doctor,  how  kind  you  are.  I  have  slept  ever  since 
you  said  good-night.  Is  it  very  lute?  I  am  really 
ashamed  you  should  have  found  me  sleeping." 

"It  is  eleven  o'clock,  young  lady.     That  is  pretty  well 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  99 

for  an  invalid.  Do  you  look  forward  to  repeating  your 
customary  antics  to-night?" 

"  I  hardly  know.  I  wish,"  she  added,  quickly, "  I  had 
been  hurt  so  badly  that  I  could  never  go  there  again." 

"Come,  that  is  folly.  Let  us  examine  your  foot 
Oh,  it  will  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  so ;  but  you  must 
keep  perfectly  quiet  meanwhile." 

"  Mayn't  I  get  up,  doctor  ?  Pray  say  yes."  She  looked 
up  in  his  face  so  beseechingly  that  he  could  not  find  it 
in  his  heart  to  refuse  her. 

"  You  might  have  a  change  of  air,  perhaps,"  said  he. 
"  Now,  were  I  a  handsome  young  buck,  you  should  let 
me  drive  you  out.  By  the  way,  is  there  no  sitting-room 
on  this  floor  ?  I  noticed,  as  I  passed,  that  the  door  ad- 
joining yours  was  open  and  the  chamber  empty.  Sup- 
pose you  go  in  there.  It  will  be  far  better  for  you  than 
remaining  here,  shut  up  and  half-stifled,  all  day  long." 

"  I  will  try,"  she  said.  "  This  house,  or  most  of  it,  is 
let  in  apartments,  something  in  the  European  way,  ex- 
cept, of  course,  that  the  people  living  here  are  of  a  very 
humble  class ;  but  the  place  is  quiet  and  respectable 
enough.  The  house  is  owned  by  a  lady — a  widow.  One 
day,  in  passing,  I  saw  a  placard  in  the  window,  and  asked 
to  look  at  the  rooms ;  but  when  she  knew  who  I  was,' 
added  Kosa,  coloring — "  for  I  thought  it  wrong  not  to 
tell  her  my  profession — she  did  not  want  to  take  me; 
but  she  felt  sorry  to  see  me  so  lonely  and  forlorn,  and 
at  last  she  concluded  to  let  me  have  the  room." 

"  And  the  rest  of  your  troupe— where  do  they  live  ?  " 

"I  am  sure  I  do  not  know,"  said  Eosa,  looking  up 
with  wondering  eyes;  "only  Monsieur  and  Madame  Cini- 
zelli — they  are  at  the  Ashland  House.  That  is  not  far 


100  THE  ITALIAN  GIRL, 

away;  so,  if  I  need  anything,  I  can  run  there  in  a  mo- 
ment." 

"  Ahem !  ahem ! "  and  the  doctor  cleared  his  throat ; 
"  then  you  are  quite  alone  here  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  "Well,  my  child,  yon  must  take  good  care  of  yourself. 
I  shall  call  once  more  to  see  if  all  is  right,  and  that  will 
be  all,  no  doubt,  you  will  require  from  the  old  doctor. 
You  must  continue  those  applications  to  your  foot,  and 
I  engage  your  name  will  soon  be  on  the  bills  again. 
Good  morning." 

"  Good  morning." 

"  Never,"  thought  Rosa,  as  he  closed  the  door;  «  never 
again.  My  career  as  a  circus-rider  is  over.  I  am  glad 
this  accident  occurred.  It  will  make  everything  easier 
for  me." 

She  rose  with  some  difficulty  and  dressed  herself;  then 
taking  np  a  book,  she  opened  her  door  and  looked  out 
The  door  of  the  next  room  was  ajar,  and  she  helped  her- 
self toward  it  by  leaning  on  the  banisters  of  the  narrow 
hall.  Within  the  chamber  was  an  old  table  and  a  sort 
of  lounge — nothing  more. 

"  I  will  lie  down  here,"  she  thought,  "and  wait  till  the 
servant  comes;  then  I  will  ask  her  to  bring  me  some- 
thing to  eat"  She  threw  herself  on  the  hard  sofa,  and 
opening  her  book,  soon  became  completely  absorbed. 


CHAPTER  VIH. 

was  still  poring  over  her  book,  oblivions  oi 
everything  else,  when  there  was  a  gentle  knock 
ut  the  door.  She  looked  up ;  it  was  Mr.  Liv- 
ingstone. 

"Come  in,"  she  said,  and  blushed  deeply.  ".How 
kind  you  are." 

"  May  I  come  in  ?  I  should  never  have  taken  such 
a  liberty ;  but  I  saw  my  good  friend,  the  doctor,  this 
morning,  and  he  told  me  what  good  advice  he  had  given 
you,  and  that  he  thought  I  might  find  you  here.  I  rang 
at  your  front  door  half-a-dozen  times,  and,  nobody 
answering,  opened  it,  then  groped  about  the  hall,  which 
was  dark  as  Erebus,  to  find  some  one  to  take  up  my  card.' 
But  not  a  soul  appeared,  and  so  I  pressed  forward  on 
a  voyage  of  discovery.  How  do  you  feel  to-day  ?  You 
still  look  very  pale."  And,  indeed,  the  color  that  flush- 
ed Rosa's  face  when  he  entered  had  quite  faded  away. 

"I  have  not  breakfasted  yet,"  said  Rosa.  "I  suppose 
that  makes  one  feel  a  little  weak." 

"  Nothing  to  eat !  what  does  that  mean  ?  " 

"  You  see,  there  are  no  bells  in  these  rooms,  and  I  could 
not  go  down  stairs,  as  usual,  so  I  have  been  waiting  for 
the  maid-servant,  but  it  seems  a  forlorn  hope." 

"  And  how  much  longer  do  you  mean  to  wait  ?  " 

"Until  she  comes,  of  course !"  and  Rosa  quietly  folded 
her  arms. 


102  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

He  took  up  his  hat.  "I  shall  not  be  gone  a  mo- 
ment." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "—and  Rosa  put  out  her  hand 
to  stop  him.  He  looked  at  it  as  if  lie  longed  to  fold  it 
in  his  own  ;  but  he  withstood  the  temptation. 

"No  matter — with  your  leave — I  shall  go  now,  and  re- 
turn in  a  few  minutes.  Here  are  some  books  I  ventured 
to  bring  you;  you  might  glance  over  them  mean- 
while." 

Her  face  beamed.  "  How  very  kind/'  she  said.  "  I 
love  books — yes  better — better  than  anything." 

"  Better  than  Bruno  ?  " 

"Ah,  no — not  better  than  my  darling  horse.  But 
better  than—" 

"  Than  people,  say  ?  "          • 

"  I  know  of  no  people  I  should  love  " — and  her  face 
darkened. 

"  But,  if  people  love  you." 

"  I  do  not  care  for  their  love."  She  averted  her  face, 
then  added :  "  They  have  not  the  kindest  way  of  showing 
it — besides" — she  turned  suddenly  and  confronted  him 
— "what  is  love?  I  know  nothing  about  it ;  but  I  have 
fancied  ft  something  generous,  self-forgetful,  swift  to 
make  any  sacriQce  for  the  one  beloved — not  travestied 
in  cruel  selfishness,  in  arid  egotism,  in — in  despicable 
meanness.  Tliat  is  the  only  love  I  have  ever  met  with. 
No,  no;  I  should  not  say  it.  There  is  one  who  is  not  so. 
I  am  ungrateful,  and  forget  him  sometimes,  merely  be- 
cause, Mr.  Livingstone,  lie  is  not  what  people  call  a 
gentleman — as  if  he  had  not  a  soul  a  thousand  times 
manlier,  more  loyal  than  you  all.  Often,  when  I  think 
of  him,  I  want  to  punish  myself,  for,  before  God,  that 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  103 

poor  clown  is  a  better  man  than  any  gentleman  I  ever 
knew." 

"  I  dare  say  that  may  be  true,"  said  Mr.  Livingstone, 
gravely ;  "  but  for  fear  you  may  say  something  a  great 
deal  less  flattering  to  me  than  the  words  you  have  just 
uttered,  I  shall  hasten  off;  but  I  will  inflict  myself 
upon  you  once  more  to-day."  He  bowed,  and  ran  down 
stairs. 

Rosa  sat  for  some  moments  motionless ;  then,  with  a 
sigh,  she  began  turning  over  the  books  he  had  left. 
Shakspeare,  in  five  volumes.  She  was  delighted.  "  Oh, 
that  is,  of  all  things,  what  I  wanted  most,"  she  ex- 
claimed— and  soon  was  poring  over  "Othello." 

She  was  already  deep  in  the  second  act  of  the  tragedy 
when  a  step  which  she  rightly  guessed  to  be  Mr.  Living- 
stone's was  heard  on  the  stairs. 

"  Come  in,"  she  said,  looking  up. 

"  I  have  brought  you  some  breakfast."  He  untied  his 
parcel.  "  There  are  some  grapes  and  oranges  that  will 
remind  you,  perhaps  of  home,  and  here  is  something 
more  solid — genuine  American  food,  in  the  shape  of  rolls 
and  chicken  sandwiches.  Will  you  have  them  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  I  am  really  hungry.  You  %re  very 
good  and  kind.  What  beautiful  grapes.  They  are  like 
those  we  have  in  Italy;  just  such  as  I  used  to  pull  for 
myself  when  they  glowed  in  the  autumnal  sun.  They 
are  delicious.  Do  eat  some" — and  she  held  out  a  bunch 
to  him. 

"  Don't  tempt  me  to  rob  you  of  them." 

"But  I  long  to  have  you  share  them  with  me." 

"  Then  I  will  take  some,  gladly.  Aren't  you  going  to 
have  a  sandwich  ?  " 


104  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"  I  mean  to  eat  everything  you  brought.  How  nice 
they  are.  I  wish  I  had  some  water." 

"  Let  me  get  you  a  glass." 

" No,  no;  please  don't:  I  can  draw  some  in  my  room. 
She  went  out  limping  slightly.  "  You  see,"  she  said, 
looking  over  her  shoulder,  "I  am  not  very  lame, 
after  all." 

He  took  up  the  book  she  had  been  reading  when  he 
first  knocked  at  her  door  that  morning.  It  was  "  Adri- 
enne  le  Couvreur." 

Rosa  came  back. 

"Do  you  like  this?"  he  said.  "You  were  read- 
ing it." 

"  It  is  very  interesting." 

"  May  I  ask  where  you  got  it  ?  " 

"At  a  bookstall  in  some  out-of-the-way  street.  You 
see,  it  is  a  much-worn  copy.  Book-hunting  is  the 
only  extravagance  I  indulge  in.  Most  of  my  little  sav- 
ings go  for  odd  volumes,  picked  up  at  second-hand  shops. 
The  worst  of  it  is  that  when  I  go  away  I  have  to  leave 
them  behind,  for  if  I  took  them  all,  in  time  they  would 
quite  fill  a  van.  But  never  fear,  my  Shakspeare  shall  go 
with  me  when  I  leave  New  York." 

"Thank  you.  Have  you  read  any  of  his  plays 
before  ?  " 

Rosa's  eyes  opened  widely.  "Of  course  I  have.  Did 
you  really  suppose  me  a  savage,  because  I  ride  a  horse 
passably  well  ?  But,  I  understand  it ;  I  understand  it. 
It  could  not  be  otherwise:  and  yet  it  never  occurred  to 
me  until  I  began  to  read  and  think,  what  an  abyss  lay 
between  me  and  other  women.  I  never  dreamed,  when 
I  began  to  ride,  that  men  would  consider  me  a  degraded 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  105 

being  because  of  an  honest  effort  to  earn  ray  bread.  It 
seemed  to  me  so  much  freer  and  nobler  too,  to  move  in 
unison  "with  my  beautiful  Bruno,  and  then  read  at  home, 
and  strive  to  make  something  of  myself,  than  to  toil  all 
day  in  a  factory — a  slave  at  a  slave's  trade.  I  could  have 
been  a  factory  girl,  of  course — or  I  might  have  gone  out 
to  service — but  it  would  have  killed  me.  To  be  ordered 
about  by  everybody,  subject  always  to  their  whims  and 
moods;  to  be  reminded  day  and  night  of  the  mean  thing 
I  was,  till  the  sneer  crushed  my  soul.  No,  I  could  not 
have  borne  it;  it  might  not  have  broken  my  heart,  but 
would  have  left  it  a  dead  thing.  But,  as  it  is,  all  I  have 
to  do  is  to  keep  aloof  from  others,  and  I  am  free,  inde- 
pendent, with  none  to  control  or  command  me.  And 
sometimes,"  she  added,  haughtily,  "  I  fail  to  see,  Mr. 
Livingstone,  why  my  position  need  be  thought  de- 
graded." 

"It  is  not  degraded,"  he  cried,  warmly.  "No  man 
living  that  has  once  seen  you  could  conceive  you  doing 
anything  that  might  degrade  you.  There  is  an  associa- 
tion of  ideas,  perhaps,  that  leads  us  to  see  things  not  as 
they  are,  but  as  prejudice  suggests  they  must  be.  I  sup- 
pose the  traditional  reputation  of  classes  must  make, 
now  and  then,  its  victims.  It  is  the  society  you  are  pre- 
sumed, to  mingle  with — the  publicity  in  which  you 
live—" 

"  But,"  said  Rosa,  "  actors  and  actresses  lead  public 
lives." 

"Yes,  the  case  is  somewhat  different.  They  are  more 
hedged  about  than  you  are.  At  any  rate,  theirs  is  a  moro 
intellectual  profession.  Not  that  what  they  nightly  re- 
peat becomes,  at  length,  a  part  of  themselves,  or  reflects 
5* 


106  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

at  all  their  own  thoughts  and  lives — far  from  it — yet,  as 
we  were  saying,  so  potent  is  the  association  of  ideas,  that 
people  naturally  invest  them  with  some  attributes  of  the 
refinement  by  which  they  see  them  surrounded;  it  seems 
as  if  they  must  absorb  some  rays,  at  least,  of  the  light 
transmitted  through  them ;  and,  I  fancy,  do  you  know, 
that  no  one  who  had  not  some  intellectual  training  or 
bias,  would  dream  of  going  on  the  stage ;  while — " 

"  While  any  coarse  creature,  void  of  brains,  but  pos- 
sessed of  physical  strength  or  skill,  might  follow  our 
calling,"  said  Rosa,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands. 
"I  see  it;  I  see  it  now.  I  was  too  young  to  see  it 
then." 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said,  feelingly ;  "  forgive  me,  if  I 
have  pained  you." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all,"  she  answered,  bitterly.  "  We  are  so 
thick-skinned,  you  know,  that  we  can  hardly  feel  a 

thrust — like  the  rhinoceros  there,  in  our  menagerie 

quite  curiously  tough." 

"It is  you  who  are  unkind,  now." 

"No,  no;  I  did  not  mean  it;  I  was  unjust;  but  your 
words  stung  me,  somehow,  and  my  own  thoughts  goaded 
me  on."  She  paused  a  moment,  and  then  said :  "  Mr. 
Livingstone,  you  have  been  so  kind  to  me  that  I  can  find 
the  courage — almost — to  ask  a  further  favor.  I  have  de- 
termined to  part  with  Bruno." 

"Your  horse?" 

"  Yes,  my  horse.  What  shall  I  ride,  then,  you  mean  ? 
I  shall  not  ride  any  more.  Did  you  fancy  I  would  go 
on  for  ever  making  a  spectacle  of  myself  ?  Oh,  it  is  long 
since  something  has  been  working  here," — she  pressed 
her  hand  to  her  brow — "  but  of  late,  for  the  first  time,  I 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL..  107 

have  seen  my  way  clear.  Mr.  Phillips, — your  friend — 
has  offered  me  five  thousand  dollars — a  fortune — for  my 
Bruno,  and  I  have  decided  to  accept  his  offer.  He  told 
me  I  might  think  it  over,  and  I  have  done  so.  "What  at 
first  looked  so  terrible,  now  seems  my  one  chance  in  life 
— a  chance  thrust  in  rry  hand  by  Providence.  Will  you 
tell  him  from  me  that  I  accept  ?  I  would  rather  not 
write  him.  Now  this,  you  see,  will  put  an  end  to  my 
engagement  with  Mons.  Cinizelli — this,  and  my  happy 
accident.  I  have  pondered,  day  and  night,  how  I  might 
break  off  my  engagement  and  yet  deal  honestly  by  my 
employer.  Now  it  has  all  come  round  in  the  best  pos- 
sible way," 

"Have  you  any  further  orders?"  Mr.  Livingstone 
turned  to  go. 

" No,  nothing  else.     You  are  not  going? " 

"  I  must." 

"I  shall  read  my  Shakspeare  all  the  rest  of  the  day." 

At  this  moment,  Mary,  the  Irish  servant,  appeared  at 
the  open  door  with  a  bouquet  of  beautiful  flowers. 

"  How  lovely ! "  said  Eosa. 

"Indade,  miss,  and  there's  a  gintleman  below  that's 
jist  lovelier  than  the  flowers,  and  he  wants  to  know  if  he 
can  obtain  admittance  to  ye." 

"No,"  said  Eosa,  hastily,  "I  do  not  wish  to  see  any- 
one." Mary  looked  up  at  Mr.  Livingstone  with  rather 
an  impertinent  smile. 

"  Well,  miss,  and  what  shall  I  say  to  him?  Shall  I 
tell  him  there's  another  young  gintleman  got  his 
place  ? " 

"  Say,"  said  Eosa,  sternly,  "  that  I  am  engaged." 

The  girl  vanished  with  a  look  of  wonder. 


108  THE  ITALIAN  GIRL. 

Presently  there  were  steps  on  the  stairs,  and  Mary  re- 
appeared at  the  door. 

"  He  says,  miss,  there's  a  note  he  had  for  ye,  in  case  ye 
was  out." 

"  Give  it  me,"  said  Kosa.    "  Is  he  waiting  ?  " 

"  Sure,  and  I  don't  know." 

"  Wait  in  the  hall,  and  I  will  see  if  there  is  an  answer. 
Will  you  excuse  me  if  I  read  it,  Mr.  Livingstone  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

She  opened  the  letter.  Mr.  Livingstone  recognized 
the  seal  as  the  envelope  fell  to  the  floor.  For  the  life 
of  him  he  could  not  keep  his  eyes  off  her  face.  As  she 
read  on,  he  saw  the  blood  mount  to  her  brow  and  stuin 
it  purple,  her  lips  wreathe  scornfully,  and  beneath  the 
long,  dark  lashes  the  fire  shoot  from  her  eyes.  She  bent 
her  head  over  the  letter  and  read  it  again  and  again, 
then  crushed  it  in  her  hand. 

"  Mary,"  she  called,  in  a  hoarse  voice,  "  say  there  is 
no  answer." 

"  Very  well,  miss." 

Rosa  sat  motionless  for  some  moments,  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  wall  before  her.  Mr.  Livingstone  saw  there 
was  some  painful  struggle  going  on  within  her,  and 
would  not,  even  by  a  word,  recall  his  presence  to  her 
mind.  At  length  she  shook  back  her  head,  as  if  to  press 
home  the  tears  that  were  ready  to  fall,  and  said : 

"  You  have  been  very  kind  to  me ;'  I  thank  you  ;  good- 
by."  She  put  out  her  hand;  he  took  it  in  both  of  his 
and  held  it  for  an  instant. 

"  Good-by.     May  I  come  again  to  see  you  ?  " 
«  Yes— no.    I  do  not  care.    I  shall  not  be  here  long 
Where  do  you  live  ?  " 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  109 

"  Do  you  mean,  where  my  house  is  here  in  town  ?  " 

"Yes,  the  street  and  the  number." 

Mr.  Livingstone  smiled.  "I  live  at  No.  Fifth 

Avenue.  Shall  I  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you 
there  ?  " 

"  You  are  very  impertinent,"  said  she,  quickly. 

*•'  That  is  a  very  unkind  remark." 

"  I  know  it.  It  really  was  what  I  hastily  called  yours. 
Forgive  me.  I  do  not  know  why  I  am  so  peevish  to- 
day." 

"Good-by.  With  your  leave,  I  will  send  you  some 
more  books.  May  I  have  one  of  those  roses  for  my  but- 
ton-hole ?  " 

"  No." 

Mr.  Livingstone  had  gone ;  how  lonely  the  room  was 
now.  Rosa  seemed  to  see  him  still,  where  he  stood  a 
few  minutes  ago,  gazing  down  at  her  with  kind,  brown 
eyes,  in  which  she  found  so  much  meaning. 

She  looked  around,  dreamily;  she  half-expected  to 
find  them  still  upon  her.  Then  she  moved  slowly  to  the 
table,  caught  up  the  flowers  which  lay  there,  and  flung 
them  from  the  window.  She  picked  up  the  letter,  which 
had  been  thrown  on  the  floor,  tore  it  into  shreds  and 
burned  them.  She  waited  till  the  last  fragment  was  in 
ashes,  then  turned  away. 

"Vile,  wicked  man,"  she  said;  "could  you  not  spare 
me  that  cruel  shame?  Whenever  and  wherever  we 
meet — within  doors,  or  in  the  street — no  matter  who  is 
with  you,  I  will  expose  you  before  the  world.  No,  it  is 
not  well  that  anything  should  shield  a  man  like  you. 
Love!  Yes,  I  was  right;  such  men  profane  the  name 
if  love.  Has  he  no  mother — no  sister?  Why,  I  have 


HO  THE    ITALIAN  GILL. 

heard  him  speak  of  both.  What  would  he  do  if  they 
were  thus  insulted?  Coward!  He  knows  I  am  poor, 
friendless,  and  a  woman.  He  imagines  I  cannot  protect 
myself.  But  here  I  make  a  vow  to  revenge  myself  on 
them  all — yes,  all !  I  will  go  forth  and  become  great — 
famous ;  and  they  shall  come  one  day  and  kneel  at  my 
feet — but  I  will  spurn  them.  Oh,  they  are  too  many, 
and  too  cruel.  The  wrongs  they  have  heaped  upon  me ! 
What!  because  I  have  no  mother — no  one  to  ward  off 
their  insolence.  Is  it  not  enough  to  ap^i  TO  a,  man, 
wirh  a  man's  heart  in  him  ?  Is  my  profession  indeed 
so  odious — so  degraded — that  it  must  stigmatize  and 
brand  with  shame  every  member  of  it,  however  inno- 
cent ?  He  seemed  to  think  so,  just  now.  lie  did  not 
spare  me  either. 

"  I  must  write  Mr.  Livingstone  immediately.  He  will 
boast,  I  suppose,  of  getting  a  note  from  the  circus-girl, 
and  will  never  mention  why  I  wrote  it.  Ah,  no,  he  is 
not  so  mean  as  that.  I  am  unjust  to  him.  He  has  been 
constantly  good  and  kind  to  me.  But  how — how  can  I 
tell  that  it  is  not  a  cunning  cloak  to  some  new  baseness? 
They  have  so  many  disguises ! "  and  the  poor  girl  wrung 
her  hands.  "They  are  like  glittering  scorpions;  they 
charm  the  eye,  and  while  you  are  gazing  at  them,  they 
sting.  They  are  to  be  amused  at  the  risk  of  our  lives; 
but  woe  to  us  if  we  succeed  in  amusing  thorn." 

She  sat  down  and  wrote  hurriedly,  read  the  note,  tore 
it  up  and  tried  again.  What  she  had  written  did  not 
suit  her;  she  bit  her  pen.  It  shocked  her  delicacy  to 
think  Mr.  Livingstone  might  guess  the  reasons  why  she 
wrote,  and  think  le?s  highly  of  her  for  having  been  the 
mark  of  evil.  Impatient  with  herself  she  wrote  : 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  \\\ 

"  MR.  LIVINGSTONE  : 

" Dear  Sir:  I  asked  you,  this  morning,  to  be  so  kind 
as  to  offer  my  horse,  Bruno,  for  sale  to  Mr.  Phillips.    I 
have  changed  my  mind.     I  do  not  care  to  sell  it  to  him. 
Please  do  me  the  favor  not  to  mention  it  at  all. 
"  Yours  respectfully, 

"ROSA  THORNTON." 

"Mary!"  she  called,  for  she  heard  the  servant's  step 
in  the  next  room. 

'  "What  is  it,  miss?"  said  Mary,  answering  her  sum- 
mons 

"  Will  you  do  me  the  kindness — be  a  good  girl ! — to 
take  this  letter  for  me  to  that  number  in  Fifth  Avenue  ? 
I  shall  be  so  much  obliged  to  you." 

"Who  is  it  to?"  said  Mary. 

"You  can  see  the  address,  Mary,  on  the  envelope/ 
replied  Rosa. 

"  No ;  I  can't  read." 

It  was  hard  for  Rosa  to  tell  her  whom  she  was  writing 
to.  She  dreaded  the  coarse,  impertinent  stare  that  was 
sure  to  follow  the  explanation,  but  she  nerved  herself  to 
the  effort,  and  s;iid  : 

"Mr.  Livingstone, Fifth  Avenue." 

"  That's  the  gintleman  that  was  tip  in  your  room, 
wasn't  it?" 

Rosa  wanted  to  answer:  "That  is  no  affair  of  yours," 
but  she  thought  it  best  to  say,  "Yes,  that  was  Mr.  Liv- 
ingstone." 

"  Well,  he's  as  purty  as  a  picture,  and  you'd  make  a 
purty  match  of  it,  and  a  purty  couple  is  a  nater  thing 
than  living  alone." 


112  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

Rosa  turned  aside,  feigning  to  gather  up  her  books. 

That  evening  a  note  was  handed  to  Mr.  Livingstone. 
It  was  written  in  a  fine,  delicate  hand  that  was  quite  un- 
known to  him.  Opening  it,  he  glanced  first  at  the  sig- 
nature, and  his  heart  gave  a  leap  as  he  saw  the  name, 
"  Rosa  Thornton."  He  read  it  over  and  over  again. 

"I  thought  so,"  he  muttered.  "I  thought  so.  I 
should  like  to  shoot  him.  Poor  child,  I  am  glad  she  is 
going  away.  It  is  better  so.  How  lovely  she  is !  and 
how  lovable !  I  hate  to  ask  my  mother  for  money. 
Yet,  after  all,  how  could  her  means  be  better  employed 
than  in  helping  this  poor  girl  ?  She  has  offered  me  a 
horse  a  hundred  tinv-s ;  Bruno  must  be  bought,  and  Rosa 
freed  from  this  hateful  life.  She  has  some  scheme  on 
foot ;  it  is  not  for  me  to  inquire  what  it  is — but  in  her 
country  much  can  be  done  with  twenty-five  thousand 
francs."  Livingstone  felt  something  very  like  a  pang, 
as  he  thought  how  far  away  she  would  be  there ;  but 
he  sat  down  and  addressed  her  as  follows  : 

"Miss  THORNTON: 

"  I  have  received  the  letter  with  which  you  honored  me. 
I  have  another  friend  who  has  been  long  anxious  to  se- 
cure Bruno,  and  is  ready  to  give  the  sum  you  mentioned. 
If  you  will  favor  me  with  an  answer  in  the  uflirmative,  I 
will  forward  to  you,  in  my  friend's  name,  the  price  of 
your  beautiful  horse.  Believe  me,  very  respectfully  and 
sincerely, 

"  Your  friend, 

"  ERNEST  LIVINGSTONE." 

By  some  shortcoming  of  the  post,  Rosa  did  not  receive 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  113 

this  letter  until  the  morning  of  the  third  day  after  she 
had  dispatched  her  own.  She  had  looked  for  an  im- 
mediate answer,  and  passed  a  sleepless  night,  turning 
over  in  her  mind  her  present  position  and  her  future 
plans.  What  was  she  to  do  ?  She  had  no  resources 
that  she  could  depend  on  now.  Bruno  was  the  only 
thing  of  value  she  possessed  on  earth,  and  since  she 
could  not  sell  him,  how  was  she  to  escape  from  her  pre- 
sent life?  She  had  been  trying  so  long — so  long — to 
lay  aside  money  enough  to  leave  the  circus  for  ever ;  hut 
it  was  slow  work.  She  had  not  only  to  lodge  and  feed 
herself,  but  to  dress  well,  since  much  of  her  favor  with 
the  public  arose  from  the  fact  that  she  was  always 
handsomely  and  tastefully  dressed. 

Moreover,  she  knew  very  well  that  Mons.  Cinizelli's 
great  success  was  due  wholly  to  herself.  He  had  often 
said,  if  he  lost  her,  he  should  lose  his  fortune  too,  and 
Eosa  hardly  knew  how  to  break  to  him  her  resolution. 
But  it  must  be  done.  She  had  resolved  at  once  and  for 
ever  to  cut  herself  away  from  her  former  life,  and  noth- 
ing on  earth  should  hold  her  hand.  She  would  go  to 
him  and  offer  him  Bruno  at  some  very  low  price.  Surely 
he  would  not  let  slip  such  a  chance  as  that !  A  horse  so 
marvelously  trained  could  not  be  found  every  day. 

Her  foot  seemed  much  better  already,  and  she  deter- 
mined to  call  betimes  at  the  Ashland  House.  She 
dressed  herself  as  prettily  as  she  could,  in  a  plain  black 
gown,  with  a  little  white  chip  hat,  and  sallied  forth  to 
confront  an  Italian  storm  in  the  mouth  of  Monsieur 
Cinizelli. 

Monsieur  and  Madame  Ciuizelli  were  in,  and  Eosa 
was  shown  to  their  room. 


114  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"Come  in !"  said  Mine.  Cinizelli,  in  answer  to  Rosa's 
timid  knock. 

"Eh,  bien!"  cried  M.  Cinizelli,  with  a  trace  of  irri- 
tation in  his  tone.  "How  are  you/mademoiselle?  A 
little  pale,  eh !  since  the  accident.  Well,  you  have 
played  the  mischief  with  me  and  my  affairs.  We  have 
had,  as  you  know,  two  representations,  and  the  proceeds 
have  been  just  half  what  they  were.  I  doivt.  think  we 
should  have  taken  even  that  if  people  had  not  come  out 
of  curiosity  to  see  the  place  where  you  had  your  fall. 
The  day  after  your  accident,  George  told  me  there  was 
an  incessant  stream  of  inquirers,  calling  to  learn  how 
much  you  were  hurt.  This  public  is  bete  !  " — he  shrugged 
his  shoulders.  "  When  shall  I  announce  your  reappear- 
ance ?  " 

Eosa  hesitated.  She  was  sorry  to  give  him  pain.  He 
had  been  her  teacher,  her  patron,  and  she  knew  she  was 
about  to  deal  him  a  heavy  blow. 

"Your  pay  is  high,  mademoiselle  ! "  he  continued.  "  Not 
that  I  would  force  you  to  appear,  but  I  understood  the 
doctor  pronounced  you  nearly  well.  You  need  not  repeat 
your  standing  feats  for  several  days.  You  can  ride  en 
Amazone.  After  all,  an  audience  likes  that  as  well  as 
anything,  and  it  will  be  no  strain  on  your  foot;  you 
can  sit  as  easy  on  your  horse  as  in  a  chair." 

"My  own!"  said  Mine.  Cinizelli,  feebly. 

"Well,  it  is  so,  Maria,  my  soul;  it  is  so.  The  Ballordi 
Brothers,  last  week,  did  not  draw  at  all.  The  great 
tr.ipeze  jump  fell  absolutely  dead.  These  people  here  are 
mad  about  this  girl,  and  there'll  be  the  devil  to  pay  if 
we  don't  give  them  another  sight,  and  that  forthwith, 
of  our  equestrienne.  It  was  she  who  drew  in  France — 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  115 

it  is  she  who  dra^vs  here.  Now,  when  shall  we  mount 
you  again,  Signorina?" 

"I  have  come  to  tell  yon,"  said  Rosa,  "that  I  do  not 
mean  to  ride  any  more.  I. have  long  been  tired  of  a 
circus  life,  and  though  I  am  truly  sorry  for  your  loss,  I 
cannot  regret  an  accident  which  puts  an  end  for  ever  to 
my  riding  in  the  ring." 

"  Per  Dio!"  cried  Mons.  Cinizelli,  growing  purple  in 
the  face,  and  striking  his  forehead. 

"  My  own  ! "  said  Madame,  much  frightened. 

"I  shall  go  crazy  with  rage ! " 

"My  own!"  Availed  his  consort.  "My  heart!  do  not 
be  angry!" 

"  I  tell  you  I'll  not  be  played  with.  We  made  a  con- 
tract— she  and  I — and  I'll  have  her  in  the  ring,  if  I  have 
to  carry  her  there  myself." 

"My  soul!"  cried  Mme.  Cinizelli,  "be  calm;  tran- 
quilize  yourself,  for  pity's  sake ! "  and  she  turned  very 
pale. 

"  I'll  carry  her  in  myself,"  he  repeated,  fiercely. 

With  compressed  lips,  Rosa  Avatched  the  storm  she 
had  evoked.  She  knew  Avell  those  Italian  tempers ;  her 
own  was  not  proof  against  sharp  trial. 

"Diavolo!  Do  you  think  to  play  with  me?"  he  went 
on,  with  flashing  eyes.  "  I'll  strap  you  on  Bruno's  back, 
like  Mazeppa — as  you  used  to  ride  in  the  hippodrome, 
before  you  put  on  such  grand  air?.  Do  you  hear?  Do 
you  imagine — Corpo  di  Baccho! — because  you  are  in 
America  you  can  do  as  you  please  ?" 

"  I  think,"  said  Rosa,  her  eyes  reflecting  the  anger  of 
his  own,  '•'  that  you  do  not  know  what  you  are  saying. 
I  am  surely  free  to  do  as  I  please,  whether  in  America 


116  THE    ITALIAN   GIRL. 

or  Italy.  Our  agreement  was  simply  this :  I  was  to  stay 
as  long  as  I  wished,  you  to  keep  me  as  long  as  you 
wished;  and  either  might  make  other  engagements 
when  he  chose." 

"  Where  are  you  going  now  ?  "  shouted  Mons.  Cinizelli, 
"  To  the  devil,  I  suppose,  with  one  of  those  soft-spoken 
young  gentlemen,  who  will  fool  you — fool  you — until 
you  have  lost  your  soul ! " 

_"My  own!  Do  not!"  his  wife  interposed  again, 
feebly.  "Do  not  get  excited  !" 

"  Take  care  ! "  Rosa  drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height, 
and  her  words  came  slow  and  hoarse.  "  I  have  borne  a 
great  deal  from  you,  monsieur,  because  you  have  gene- 
rally been  considerate  and  kind,  and  in  your  heart,  I 
know,  have  wished  me  well.  But  there  are  some  things 
I  can  bear  from  no  one." 

"  You'll  have  to  bear  a  good  deal  yet  from  me." 

"  My  own,  my  soul !  you  lower  yourself,"  said  his  wife. 

"  Curse  me  if  I  pay  you  one  centime." 

"  Yes,  you  will  pay  me,"  returned  Rosa,  "  what  I  have 
toiled  hard  to  earn,  because  it  is  mine;  and  I  know  you 
too  well  to  fear  that  you  will  try  to  keep  it  from  me. 
You  may  deduct  my  wages  for  the  last  few  nights. 
From  to-day  our  agreement  ends." 

lie  struck  his  head  in  helpless  rage.  "  Such  base- 
ness !  Who  would  have  believed  it  ?  But,  be  it  so  ;  to 
meet  with  ingratitude  is  the  curse  of  man.  Adieu  I 
mademoiselle!  Think  not  to  get  anything  more  out  of 
me.  The  devil  take  you,  and  make  of  you  what  he 
likes ! " 

Rosa  turned  to  go.  "Good-by,"  she  said,  extending 
her  hand  to  Mme.  Cinizelli.  "  I  feel  very  grateful  to 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  117 

you  for  all  your  motherly  care.  Should  good  fortune 
ever  come  to  me,  I  will  write  to  you." 

The  tears  stood  in  the  good  woman's  eyes.  She  pressed 
Rosa's  hand.  "  Don't  you  mind  Cinizelli,"  she  said, "he 
will  come  round  in  time,  but  lie  is  out  of  his  head  now. 
I  have  often  seen  him  thus;  but,  never  fear,  ycu  will 
not  find  him  unjust  or  mean.  I  know  him  well ;  he 
fires  up  as  if  he  was  going  to  scorch  somebody;  but 
leave  him  alone,  presently  he  cools  again.  Don't  mind 
his  hasty  words." 

"  Good-by,"  said  Bosa,  and  quietly  closed  the  door. 
She  felt  more  wretched  aud  lonely  than  ever  now.  She 
had  broken  with  the  only  true  friends  she  had  ever  had, 
and  was  adrift  once  more  in  the  wide  world.  She  hurried 
on,  she  knew  not  whither.  There  was  a  wild,  bitter 
feeling  gnawing  at  her  heart — a  sense  of  universal 
wrong.  What  harm  had  she  done  that  the  world  should 
deal  so  hardly  with  her?  She  had  tried  honestly  and 
patiently  to  do  her  best,  and  met  with  nothing  but 
harshness  and  contempt.  No  human  being  cared 
whether  she  lived  or  died.  Life  was  hateful  to  her.  Why 
not  end  it?  She  need  not  fear  to  die,  for  she  had  done 
nobody  any  wrong.  Death  seemed  to  offer  such  sweet 
rest  to  her.  Her  business  on  this  earth  was  to  amuse 
those  who  could  pay  for  amusement;  but  they  owed 
no  reciprocal  duties  to  her.  She  had  made  money  for 
her  old  patron,  and  he  had  petted  her;  when  she  ceased, 
he  turned  against  her  and  spoke  brutal  words.  And  so 
it  would  be  always.  People  would  condescend  to  take 
what  she  had  to  give,  but,  when  sick  or  in  trouble,  she 
could  give  no  more,  they  would  toss  her  aside  with 
scorn.  Yes,  it  had  been  a  savage  world  to  her. 


118  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

Was  she  never  to  avenge  herself?  From  time  to  time 
that  craving,  that  fierce  hunger  of  vengeance,  rose  do- 
minant in  Rosa's  mind — a  blind  longing  to  retaliate  on 
some  one — on  every  one — the  wrongs  she  had  herself  en- 
dured. And  while  she  would  nurse  the  desire,  her  re- 
ligious faith  seemed  dead  or  dormant  within  her. 

Poor  Rosa's  religious  training,  indeed,  had  been  far 
from  thorough.  Her  mother  had  told  her  little  of  God, 
but  possessed  enough  Italian  vanity  and  superstition 
to  have  her  child  confirmed.  On  that  occasion,  as  the 
custom  was,  Rosa  had  been  dressed  in  white,  a  white 
veil  shrouding  her  face,  little  boots  of  white  satin  on  her 
feet,  a  big  bouquet  of  white  roses  in  her  hand,  and,  thus 
attired,  been  promenaded  through  the  principal  streets 
of  her  native  town,  looking  like  a  small  handmaid  of 
the  Virgin,  or  a  miniature  bride  of  the  Church.  Fortu- 
nately Rosa  had  found  in  her  confessor  a  wise  and  faith- 
ful priest.  He  had  listened  tenderly  to  the  story  that  fell 
from  her  young  lips,  and  taught  her,  for  the  first  time, 
to  lift  up  her  soul  to  the  Great  Father.  He  had  told 
her  that  God  loves  most  dearly  those  whom  he  chastens 
most.  It  was  not  for  her  to  ask  his  reasons,  but  bow 
the  head  and  accept  his  will.  His  words  had  fallen 
like  gentle  rain  upon  her  heart,  already  hardened  by 
sorrow.  Something  of  their  wholesome  fragrance  linger- 
ed still,  only  at  times  she  forgot  Ihem,  or  flung  them 
aside,  almost  with  hatred.  So  she  did  now,  feeling 
that  all  on  earth  was  dark — injustice  everywhere,  wrong 
everywhere — and  that  she  must  right  herself. 

She  walked  swiftly  along,  careless  whither,  and  quite 
forget  ling  that  her  foot  was  still  far  from  strong.  Turn- 
ing a  corner  into  Madison  Square,  she  came  suddenly 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  119 

on  a  group  of  persons,  whom,  lifting  her  eyes,  she  recog- 
nized. It  was  Mr.  Phillips  and  Mary,  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Elliot.  The  ladies  stared  at  her  intently.  Mr.  Elliot 
touched  his  hat,  hut  Mr.  Phillips  took  no  notice  of  her. 
A  blind,  mad  rage  seized  Rosa  and  o'ermastered  her 
native  delicacy.  She  walked  up  to  Miss  Marlboro,  and 
raising  her  veil  said,  hurriedly : 

"  Pardon  me.  The  gentleman  who  is  with  you  is  not 
a  fit  companion  for  any  lady." 

Mary  scanned  her  in  blank  astonishment,  while  Mr. 
Phillips  twirled  his  moustache.  Cecilia  and  llcnry  hud 
stopped,  and  heard  every  word.  Eos  a  went  on  reck- 
lessly: 

"If  you  were  poor  and  defenseless,  this  man  would 
long  ago  have  insulted  you.  You  owe  it  to  your  position 
and  wealth  alone  that  he  has  not  yet  done  so."  She  shot 
at  Mr.  Phillips  a  glance  of  loathing  and  scorn.  "Dare 
you  say  it  is  not  true  ?  " 

He  did  not  answer.    NuboJy  spoke.    Eo^a  passed  on. 

She  had  scarcely  gone  a  step,  when  her  anger  began 
to  cool.  "With  amazement  and  horrorx  she  recalled  what 
she  had  done.  Her  rage  had  whirled  her  forward  like 
a  delirium — and  to  what  sad  lengths.  The  few  words  she 
had  uttered  seemed  to  ring  in  her  remorseful  ear?.  She 
would  have  given  worlds  to  unsay  them;  for  now,  alas! 
she  had  lost  ground  in  her  own  esteem.  She  longed  to 
be  at  home  once  more  in  her  little  room,  where  she  might 
think  over  what  she  had  done,  uuvexed  by  the  noises 
of  the  street.  She  beckoned  to  an  omnibus,  got  in,  and 
was  soon  at  her  house  ugaiu. 

The  movement  of  the  stage  had  afforded  some  distrac- 
tion to  her  thoughts,  and  now  the  quiet  of  her  small 


120  THE  ITALIAN  GIRL. 

chamber  struck  upon  her  with  severe  pain.  The  words 
she  had  said  to  Mr.  Phillips  took  shape  before  her  mental 
vision  and  wrote  themselves  on  the  wall.  Had  she  been 
crazy  in  that  unlucky  moment?  Certainly  she  had 
hurt  herself  far  more  than  she  had  hurt  him.  She  sat 
down  and  pressed  her  fevered  head  against  the  cool  man- 
telpiece. 

"I  always  felt  till  now,"  she  said,  giving  utterance  to 
her  thoughts,  "a  sort  of  pride  in  myself.  I  was  glad 
to  be  what  I  was;  it  was  a  sort  of  silent  revenge;  the 
consciousness  in  my  own  soul  that  I  was  not  the  low 
thing  they  thought  me  ;  that  the  poor  circus  girl  had 
burning  within  her  a  love  of  the  beautiful  and  true ;  and 
that  before  heaven  that  recognizes  no  distinction  of 
birth,  I  stood  quite  as  high  as  those  who  looked  down 
on  me.  It  is  different  now;  I  have  become  what  I 
seemed — a  mean,  degraded  creature.  Just  when  I  hud 
thrown  off  my  former  self,  I  seem  to  have  become  least 
worthy  of  better  things.  What  shall  I  do?  I  cannot 
write  and  ask  his  pardon — I  despise  him  too  much  for 
that — but  if  I  knew  where  the  young  lady  lived,  I 
would  go  to  her  and  acknowledge  how  sorry  I  am.  She 
has  a  kind  face.  She  might  forgive  me." 

The  persons  whom  Rota  had  so  much  startled  re- 
mained motionless  for  some  moments,  eyeing  one  unother 
in  speechless  surprise.  Mr.  Phillips  seemed  stupefied, 
but  presently  stammered  out  some  excuse  for  taking 
his  leave.  The  ladies  bowed  coldly  and  walked  home 
without  a  word. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

ARDLY  had  Mrs.  Elliot,  with  her  husband  and 
sister,  reached  home,  when  Mary  left  the  mar- 
ried pair  together,  and  Cecilia  began,  with  a 
gleam  of  triumph  in  her  eyes: 

'•  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  Miss  Thornton  now  ?" 

''I  think,"  said  Henry,  "that  she  showed  a  splendid 
spirit;  just  what  I  should  have  expected  from  her." 

"  Henry,  you  surely  are  not  in  earnest  ?  " 

"Indeed,  I  am.  She  served  Phillips  right;  and  if 
there  were  more  of  her  fearless  dignity  in  your  sex — or 
if  you  would  take  one  another's  part  when  you  see  it 
exerted — you  would  be  nobler  beings  than  you  now  are, 
and  more  worthy  of  love." 

"  It  is  cruel,  Henry,  by  way  of  defending  one  woman, 
to  assail  the  rest." 

"  Well,  I  ask  your  pardon  ;  perhaps  it  was  not  civil. 
It  was  true,  however,  and  truth  should  be  some  excuse 
for  incivility." 

"No,  it  is  no  excuse.  What  would  you  say  if  another 
woman  had  been  so  bold,  so  brazen,  as  to  stop  strangers 
in  the  street  and  taunt  each  with  his  secret  faults  in  the 
others'  presence  ?  " 

"  I  should  call  it  the  best  moral  barometer  in  the 
world,  warning  every  one  where  to  expect  deceit,  false- 
hood, and  treachery,  and  thereby  enabling  them  to  guard 
against  evil  influences." 
6 


122  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

"You  know  you  only  say  that  because  you  are  re- 
solved to  take  that  girl's  part ;  or  because  you  seek  to 
torment  me." 

"  No ;  neither  one  nor  the  other.  I  spoke  from  an 
honest  love  of  the  truth." 

"I  am  tired  of  this  eternal  truth,"  and  Cecilia's  voice 
trembled.  "You  know,  Henry,  it  was  atrocious  im- 
pertinence in  that  girl.  Suppose,  for  instance — suppose 
Mary  had  been  engaged  to  Mr.  Phillips,  a  thousand  sus- 
picions would  have  been  awakened,  and  might  have 
ended  in  making  her  wretched  for  life." 

"  But,  my  dear  child,  do  you  not  see  ?  In  the  case 
you  suppose,  this  plain  truth,  which  you  detest  so 
much — " 

"I  do  not  detest  it!"  said  Cecilia,  reddening. 

"  This  plain  truth,"  continued  Henry,  with  a  mis- 
chievous expression  in  his  eyes,  which  his  wife  did  not 
care  to  meet,  "  would  have  prevented  all  that  misery." 

"  No,  I  see  it  would  have  caused  it." 

"  Pardon  me ;  not  at  all ;  because,  were  he  not,  in  fact, 
the  man  Mary  had  supposed  him,  she  must  have  been, 
sooner  or  later,  disillusionized ;  and  how  much  better  to 
discover  her  mistake  before  marriage  than  afterward." 

"  I  do  not  see  why  Mary  should  have  a  special  inter- 
vention of  Providence  on  her  behalf.  Other  people  have 
to  take  their  chances,  and  the  consequences  of  their  acts. 
I  am  sure  if  most  of  us  knew  beforehand  all  the  defects 
of  those  we  propose  to  live  with,  we  should  change  our 
minds  fast  enough." 

"  Well,  you  are  coming  round  to  my  views." 

«  Not  at  all,  Henry." 

"  Yes,  you  are.    It  is  because  of  its  tendency  to  pre- 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  123 

vent  these  misunderstandings  and  life-long  miseries  that 
the  act  of  heroism  we  witnessed  this  morning  should  be 
encouraged  and  admired." 

"She  is  a  bold,  bad  girl." 

"  She  is  a  noble  creature !  Here  is  a  young,  innocent, 
unprotected  girl  defending  her  own  honor  and  the  dig- 
nity of  her  sex  against  a  low-minded  libertine,  while  you> 
secured  from  scathe  or  wrong  by  some  casual  advantage 
of  birth  or  station — you  stand  aloof,  and  cry  shame  on 
her!  You  ought  to  stretch  forth  your  arms  to  her; 
shield  and  comfort,  and  call  her  sister.  But  you,  for- 
sooth, are  too  high-born  for  that ;  or  rather,  you  are  too 
deeply  imbued  with  foreign  prejudices  to  be  true  to  your 
womanhood  and  your  country." 

"It  is  false!  You  might  say  that  to  Mary — not  to 
me.  You  know  well  that  I  never  had  any  foreign 
ideas!" 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Henry,  coldly,  "  that  you  pride  your- 
self on  your  Puritanism." 

Cecilia  burst  into  tears.  "  This  is  too  much  !  You 
blame  me  for  one  thing  one  moment,  and  the  next  in- 
stant for  the  opposite.  Ever  since  that  hateful  girl  ap- 
peared, you  have  been  a  different  man.  How  do  you 
know  Mr.  Phillips  is  the  low-minded  libertine  you  call 
him  ?  If  he  is,  you  ought  never  to  have  countenanced 
his  schemes.  You  dishonored  yourself  by  doing  it." 

"  You  may  be  sure  that  girl  had  some  good  reason  for 
the  bitterness  she  showed  toward  him;  and  for  my  own 
part,  certainly,  I  shall  not  continue  his  acquaintance." 

"You  call  that  justice!"  said  Cecilia,  "  to  forsake  an 
old  friend  for  the  light  words  of  a  girl  you  do  not 
know." 


124  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"  Pardon  me !  I  do  know  her,  though,  I  regret  to  say, 
but  slightly." 

"  Regret !    You  might  have  spared  me  that ! " 

"  Why  so  ?  How  can  we  help  missing  those  who  might 
have  an  ennobling  influence  on  our  lives  ?  I  shall  most 
certainly  be  at  great  pains,  henceforward,  to  cultivate 
this  acquaintance.  It  may  yet  ripen  into  friendship." 

Henry  said  this,  partly  to  tease  Cecilia,  partly  from  a 
reckless  temper,  that  often  placed  him  in  an  aggressive 
attitude  toward  conventional  formulas  and  creeds. 

"  Then  you  mean  to  go  and  see  her  ?  " 

"Why  should  I  not?" 

"Because — because,"  said  Cecilia — and  the  young 
wife  trembled  from  head  to  foot — "because,  as  I  re- 
minded you  once  before,  you  promised  solemnly  at  the 
altar,  leaving  all  others,  to  cleave  unto  me ;  but  you  re- 
cognize none  of  the  laws  that  control  humanity." 

"  I  bow  to  none  that  are  inhuman,  but  I  obey  the  law 
of  truth." 

"  Truth !  truth !  Must  I  always  hear  of  it,  and  never 
see  it  acted  on?"  exclaimed  Cecilia.  "Are  no  other 
laws  binding  ? — those  of  humanity — of  mercy  ?  It  seems 
to  me  you  confound  everything.  Are  no  lines  to  be 
drawn  anywhere  ?  Where  distinctions  exist,  you  must 
make  account  of  them.  You  know  the  framework  of 
society  does  exist;  that  there  are  clashes,  and,  of  neces- 
sity, some  difference  between  high  and  low." 

"Why,  of  necessity?" 

"  Because,  otherwise,  my  coachman  would  be  sitting 
at  my  table,  and  there  would  be  no  respect  of  persons." 

"  Nor  should  there  be.  Has  not  America  proclaimed 
all  persons  free  and  equal  ?  " 


THE    ITALIAN   GIRL.  125 

"At  least,"  said  poor  Cecilia,  made  half  frantic  by  op- 
position, "  there  should  be  some  respect  paid  to  goodness 
and  education." 

"  If  you  shut  off  the  ignorant  from  all  access  to  the 
educated  and  good,  how  are  they  to  rise  to  better  things  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  love  to  argue  for  argument's  sake — but  I 
hate  it!  Henry,  dearest!'5 — she  went  to  him,  and  put 
her  arms  about  his  neck — "  promise  me  this  one  thing! 
Promise  me  not  to  go  there, — not  to  see  her  I  It  would 
make  me  so  wretched ! " 

"  Why  would  it  make  you  wretched  ? ' 

"  Don't  ask  me,  dear,  to  argue  it  all  over  again !  You 
know  you  owe  it  to  me  not  to  go !  I  entreat  you,  dear 
Henry,"  and  she  clasped  her  hands,  "you'll  not  go,  will 
you?" 

"  I  will  promise  nothing.    Good-by ! " 

Cecilia  said  no  more,  and  Henry  left  her.  He  had 
talked  himself  into  believing  it  right  and  proper  to  do 
whatever  he  chose,  and  go  where  he  chose.  If  this  girl 
had  good  in  her,  she  must  needs  exert  a  good  influence 
upon  all  who  came  within  her  sphere.  He  admired  her 
beauty,  and  her  spirit,  and  saw  no  harm  in  saying  so. 
He  felt  vexed  with  Cecilia  for  her  want  of  sympathy,  and 
in  a  hard,  cold  mood  wandered  up  town  toward  the 
house  where  Rosa  lived.  He  had  never  gone  there,  save 
on  that  one  night  when  he  with  his  friends  had  accom- 
panied Rosa  from  Delmonico's  to  her  house.  lie  walked 
on,  hardening  his  heart,  until  he  reached  her  street. 
Then  suddenly  rose  before  him  Cecilia's  pale  face,  wet 
with  tears;— was  it  not  his  duty  to  make  her  happy? 
What  right  had  he  to  throw  himself  or  lead  another  in 
the  way  of  temptation  ?  Were  not  love  and  truth  in- 


126  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

mates  of  his  own  home,  if  he  would  but  look  there  for 
them  ?  As  he  was  Hearing  Rosa's  door  these  thoughts 
made  him  pause.  Agaiu  he  moved  forward  with  a  laugh 
at  his  own  prudery  :  he  paused  again.  "What  had  he  to 
do  with  her?  Was  he  not  a  married  man?  Was  he  in 
conscience  seeking  her  friendship  only,  in  order  to  level 
false  social  barriers,  and  place  all  classes  on  a  footing 
of  equality?  If  it  were  really  so,  why  did  he  not  go 
forth  and  preach  his  doctrine  to  less  attractive  material  ? 
He  stood  still  on  the  sidewalk,  put  one  foot  on  the  step, 
then  turned  his  face  and  walked  resolutely  down  the 
street.  Had  Cecilia  known  this,  she  would  have  ceased 
weeping,  knelt  down,  and  prayed  heaven  to  bless  him 
she  loved;  but  Henry  was  to  >  independent  and  too 
proud  to  let  her  know  what  he  had  withstood,  and  what 
proof  he  had  given  of  his  affection  for  her. 


CHAPTER  X. 

OOR  Rosa,  meanwhile,  was  left  to  her  own 
resources,  and  very  slender  they  were.  Her 
ready  money  was  nearly  exhausted,  and  Mon- 
sieur Cinizelli's  passion  apparently  had  not 
yet  cooled;  at  least,  she  had  heard  nothing  from  him 
since  that  memorable  afternoon.  He  was  still  in  her 
debt  for  four  months'  pay,  but  Rosa  could  not  stoop 
to  appeal  to  him.  She  had  heard  nothing  of  her  offer  to 
sell  poor  Bruno,  and  had  not  ventured,  since  the  day  of 
her  accident,  to  visit  the  circus.  She  wondered  whether 
any  one  took  care  of  her  darling  now,  and  whether  they 
used  him  in  the  ring;  she  never  would  forgive  Mon- 
sieur Cinizelli  if  he  sanctioned  that ;  Bruno  was  still  her 
horse !  How  was  she  to  find  a  purchaser  for  him  ? 
Should  she  advertise, — or  what  steps  ought  she  to  take? 
She  knew  nothing  of  such  things!  If  only  Mr.  Living- 
stone would  call, — he,  perhaps,  would  help  her.  He  was 
not  proud,  like  the  rest, — and  she  did  not  fear  him, 
somehow, — but  he  would  never  come;  what  possible 
claim  had  she  on  his  time  or  thoughts?  She  looked 
over  her  little  wardrobe,  and  began  to  reckon  what  she 
had  that  was  salable,  and  might  supply  her  present 
needs. 

On  one  thing  her  mind  was  fixed, — to  leave  America 
as  soon  as  possible.    She  would  stay  no  longer  where 


128  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

there  was  nothing  more  for  her  to  do.  She  longed, 
moreover,  for  a  breath  of  Italian  air;  there  was  nobody 
in  Italy  whom  she  loved,  it  was  true, — but  it  seemed 
sometimes  that  if  she  could  only  feel  the  sea  breeze  on 
her  cheek,  could  hear  the  familiar  music  of  her  mother- 
tongue,  and  gather  flowers,  as  she  used,  from  her  native 
soil,  she  would  be  happy  and  light-hearted  once  more  1 
Yes,  she  would  go  now,  while  her  heart  was  free!  The 
thought  called  the  color  to  her  face — Free!  it  should 
always  be  free,  yet  Rosa  had  a  prophetic  sense  of  what 
she  might  one  day  feel,  and  shrank  from  it  as  from  a 
pain  she  would  willingly  be  spared. 

She  went  to  her  bureau,  and  scanned  her  treasures. 
What  could  she  count  on  to  help  her  in  these  straits  ? 
There  lay  a  few  jewels,  souvenirs  of  benefit  nights  in 
London  and  Paris,  a  diamond  ring,  which  she  had 
never  worn,  some  earrings  of  turquoise,  less  becoming 
to  her  dark  beauty, — a  bouquet  holder  of  silver,  set  with 
garnets  and  other  stones,  and  other  graceful,  but  useless, 
toys.  They  were  the  guerdons  of  her  little  triumphs, 
hoarded  as  such  till  now ;  "  But  I  will  sell  them  to-day  !  " 
she  said,  and  then  reddened  at  the  thought  of  threading 
the  streets  to  peddle  her  small  wares.  "  Let  them  go,  I 
hate  them  !  If  I  might  only  part  as  easily  with  myself, 
be  lost  in  the  great  crowd,  and  forget  that  I  had  ever 
lived!  Who  will  wear  these,  I  wonder?  Some  one,  I 
hope,  less  unhappy  than  I!  This  diamond,  perhaps, 
may  be  bought  for  an  engagement  ring  one  day,  and 
the  fair  young  owner  will  little  dream  whose  it  \\ 

Rosa  dressed,  and  taking  her  jewel-boxes,  sallied  forth 
in  quest  of  a  purchaser.  She  ttent  first  to  a  large  jeweler's 
shop  in  the  centre  of  the  city,  but  paused  before  the  great 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  129 

doors,  for  she  who  had  been  the  cynosure  of  a  thousand 
eyes,  wanted  courage  for  her  present  purpose.  She 
entered;  a  tall  personage,  with  elaborately-trimmed 
whiskers,  stepped  forward  and  bowed  low.  She  threw 
back  her  veil  with  a  haughty  air.  "  I  have  a  diamond 
ring,"  she  said,  "  and  other  jewels  which  I  wish  to  dispose 
of!  May  I  see  somebody  for  that  purpose  ?  " 

"  To  exchange  ?  " 

"No,  to  sell!" 

The  man  smiled  civilly,  "  "We  don't  do  that  sort  of 
business  here !  "  Rosa's  heart  sank,  she  turned  to  go, 
but  not  before  she  had  seen  the  usher  wink  at  a  fellow- 
clerk  behind  a  counter,  as  if  to  say,  "  I've  sent  her  off. 
You  know  what  she  wants!"  She  was  ready  to  faint 
with  mortification,  but  managed  to  walk  out  with  a  firm 
step,  resolving  to  try  some  less  elegant  establishment. 
A  few  blocks  on  the  north  was  another  well-known 
jeweler.  Rosa  shivered  as  she  drew  near  the  shop,  but 
went  in,  and  addressing  in  a  low  voice  one  of  the  sales- 
men, "  I  have,"  she  said,  "  a  ring  that  I  should  like  to 
sell!" 

He  leaned  forward  obsequiously,  "  What  did  you  say, 
madam  ?  " 

"  I  said  I  had  a  ring  I  should  be  glad  to  sell ! " 

"We  do  not  buy  single  rings! "  was  the  gruff  reply, 
emphasized  by  a  lifting  of  the  eyebrows  and  a  glance 
toward  the  door  that  hinted  plainly,  "  Do  not  let  me  de- 
tain you!"  Rosa  looked  him  straight  in  the  face — for 
she  would  not  seem  to  understand  the  insult — and 
walked  slowly  away. 

Her  progress  so  far  was  riot  encouraging,  but  she  must 
try  once  more,  for  she  remembered  how  much   she 
6* 


130  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL, 

needed  money.  She  recalled  with  bitterness  of  sonl,  as 
she  moved  on,  how  people  had  censured  her  for  earning 
her  bread  honestly,  and  now  that  she  had  forsaken  her 
calling,  not  a  hand  was  stretched  forth  to  help  her.  She 
might  die  of  starvation — who  would  care? 

Three  doors  further  on  Broadway  was  another  gold- 
smith. Ah,  how  she  detested  her  errand,  but  she  entered, 
lifted  her  veil,  produced  her  ring-box,  and  said,  timidly, 
'•Would  you  kindly  tell  me  the  value  of  this  ring?" 

The  man  took  it  up,  examined  it  with  a  maguifying- 
glass,  and  finally,  handing  it  back  to  Rosa,  opined  that 
it  was  worth  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars. 

"  Would  you  give  me  that  sum  for  it  ?  "  said  Rosa. 

The  man  screwed  up  his  eyes  at  this  ;  scrutinized  the 
ring  with  the  semblance  of  extreme  severity,  and  after  a 
judicious  silence,  "  Now  I  look  at  it,"  said  he,  "  I  see  I 
overestimated  it  just  now.  The  central  diamond,  you 
perceive,  has  a  flaw  in  it." 

"  Would  you  please  tell  me,"  said  Rosa,  "  what  you 
would  give  for  it  ?  " 

"Well,  it  is  not  a  first-class  ring;  these  stones  that 
form  the  cluster  are  not  true  brilliants,  they  are  only 
rose-diamonds;  we  might  not  sell  this  article  again  for 
a  year,  and  if  it  lies  in  the  store,  we  lose  the  interest,  you 
see!" 

"  Yes,"  said  poor  Rosa,  "that  is  quite  true,  but  what, 
then,  is  it  worth  ?  " 

••  Well,  I  will  inquire ! "  He  disappeared,  and  Rosa  saw 
him  in  close  colloquy  with  another  personage  at  the  rear 
of  the  store.  He  returned  presently,  and  announced  that 
he  could  let  her  have  fifty  dollars  for  the  ring. 

"  That  is  very  little,  if  it  is  worth  a  hundred  and  fifty  1 " 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  131 

"Well,  yon  see  the  gold  mounting  is  out  of  date,  and 
useless  to  us.  Nobody  would  buy  diamonds  set  in  that 
fashion." 

Eosa  did  not  see  it,  but  she  needed  money  sorely,  and 
so  consented  to  take  fifty  dollars.  She  produced  next 
her  turquoise  earrings.  These  also  were  stones  of  con- 
siderable value,  and  the  jeweler  glanced  at  her  somewhat 
doubtfully,  but  her  frank  eyes  met  his,  and  disarmed 
suspicion. 

Poor  Eosa!  When  the  trinkets  had  been  sent  to  her, 
the  price-ticket,  by  accident  or  from  design,  had  re- 
mained attached  to  them.  It  bore  the  mark,  five  hun- 
dred francs  ;  and  now  he  said,  "  twenty-five  dollars  ! " 
She  told  him  that  she  knew  what  the  earrings  cost — 
"  Yes,  but  that,"  he  said,  "  was  a  long  time  ago ! " 

"  Only  last  winter,"  she  replied. 

"  Oh,  very  well,  if  you  can  find  a  more  liberal  dealer, 
pray  "do  so  1 " 

'•  Ah,  no,"  she  said,  piteously,  "I  will  accept  the  sum 
you  offer!"  The  man  went  to  his  safe,  and  fumbling 
a'^out,  drew  forth  a  bundle  of  bank-notes.  "How  rich 
he  must  be!"  thought  Eosa,  "and  he  will  enrich  him- 
self further  now  with  my  poor  jewels."  He  counted  a 
roll  twice  over — it  contained  seventy-three  dollars.  He 
handed  tin  in  to  her;  "  Wait  a  moment,"  he  said,  "and 
I  will  fetch  you  the  remainder!" 

While  she  was  waiting,  a  lady  entered  whom  Eosa  in- 
stantly recognized  as  the  person  who  had  Mr.  Phillips' 
arm  during  the  rencontre  in  Madison  Square.  Eo?a 
colored  to  the  roots  of  her  hair  and  turned  away  ;  Mary 
smiled,  and — another  clerk  coming  forward — said  to  him, 
in  tones  that  struck  sweetly  on  Eosa's  heart,  "I  have 


132  THE    ITALIAN  GIRL. 

brought  this  pin  to  be  mended;  the  diamond  in  the 
centre  has  dropped  out  once  already;  happily,  however, 
it  occurred  in  my  own  room.  Pray  have  it  secured 
carefully;  such  a  piece  of  good  fortune  will  scarcely 
happen  twice." 

"I  will  see  it  well  fastened,  miss  I  You  may  rely 
on  it!" 

*l  Thanks !    Pray  do  it  very  carefully ! " 

"Here,"  said  the  other  salesman,  handing  Rosa  her 
two  dollars,  "  here  is  what  remains  of  the  price  agreed 
on!" 

Rosa  turned  to  go,  but  looked  wistfully  at  Mary. 
Mary  returned  the  glance  with  a  look  of  encouragement. 
Rosa  stopped  and  advanced  toward  her ;  "  I  hope,"  she 
said,  but  her  voice  was  scarcely  audible,  "you  will  not 
think  I  take  too  great  a  liberty  in  addressing  you,  but  I 
have  so  longed  to  meet  you.  Had  I  known  where  you 
lived,  I  should  have  ventured  to  write  you  a  line.  Be- 
lieve me,  I  have  suffered  keenly  from  remorse,  for  an 
outburst  of  what  must  have  seemed  to  you,  and  indeed 
was,  inexcusable  anger." 

Mary  looked  at  her,  but  did  not  speak,  yet  there  was 
in  her  eyes  such  profound  interest,  so  much  genuine 
sympathy,  that  Rosa  was  emboldened  to  continue. 

"  I  hope  that  you  will  forget  it  all,  and  that,  if  you 
ever  condescend  to  think  of  the  poor  girl  you  have  some- 
times applauded,  your  memory  may  not  connect  her  with 
a  scene  of  which  she  is  heartily  ashamed." 

So  great  was  Mary's  amazi-meni  a  Rosa's  gentle  man- 
in -r,  and  the  pure  English  which  she  spoke,  only  tinctured 
as  it  were  by  the  faintest  foreign  accent,  so  natural  and 
lively  was  the  interest  awakened  by  a  life  so  wholly 


THE    ITALIAN   GIRL.  133 

different  from  her  own,  that  for  the  first  few  minutes  she 
listened  in  silence,  but  now  she  said : 

"  Do  not  suppose  I  blame  you.  I  admire  your  cou- 
rage, and  shall  always  be  grateful  to  you  for  speaking  as 
you  did.  It  is  a  shameful  thing  for  men  to  dare  enter 
the  society  of  ladies,  when  their  private  lives  are  utterly 
unworthy  of  them.  I  wish  all  girls  were  as  brave  as  you ! " 

"  But,  I  fear,"  said  Rosa,  "  that  I  did  not  speak  from 
any  good  motive,  but  urged  on  by  rage,  and  a  blind 
longing  for  revenge!" 

"  No  matter  what  the  motive  was,  it  was  a  righteous 
act.  The  cause  was  ample,  and  the  effect  was  good., Mr. 
Phillips,  perhaps  you  know,  sailed  for  Europe  two  days 
afterward.  He  had  not  intended  to  go  so  early  by  a 
month  or  two !" 

"  No,  I  did  not  know  it,"  replied  Rosa,  meeting  her 
look  with  clear,  frank  eyes.  "  Good-by !  I  suppose  I 
shall  never  see  you  again!  But  I  am  glad  I  spoke  to 
you!" 

"  I  heard  of  your  accident,"  said  Mary,  "  and  will  call 
on  you  soon.  You  seem  quite  well  again.  It  was  very 
fortunate  the  sprain  was  not  more  serious." 

"  I  shall  never  ride  again." 

"  Oh,  was  it  so  serious,  then  ?  "  said  Mary.  "  It  cannot 
be  so  bad  as  that ! " 

"  No,  the  sprain  was  nothing,  but  I  have  said  farewell 
to  my  circus  life.  Good-by ! " 

Mary  put  out  her  hand  : 

"  Will  you  not  come  and  see  me  ?  "  she  said,  "you  are 
lonely,  perhaps, — I  have  heard  my  brother,  Mr.  Elliot, 
speak  of  meeting  you.  It  would  give  me  pleasure  to  see 
you  at  our  house — here  is  my  card! " 


134  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"  I  shall  come  with  much  pleasure,"  said  Rosa,  her 
face  lighting,  aud  Mary  owned  to  herself  that  her  new 
acquaintance  looked  bewitching  at  that  moment. 

"  You  will  be  sure  to  come,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  have  had  too  few  pleasures  to  forego  so  great 
a  one  as  this  will  be  to  me.  Good-by ! " 

"  Good-by,"  said  Mary,  on  reaching  the  door.  Rosa 
turned  away;  but  Mary  stood  watching  her  till  she  was 
lost  in  the  throng.  Then,  her  mind  full  of  their  meeting, 
she,  too,  returned  home.  "  What  would  Mr.  Living- 
stone think,"  she  pondered,  "  if  he  knew  I  had  BO  far 
conquered  my  prejudices  as  not  merely  to  talk  with  this 
girl,  but  positively  invite  her  to  come  and  see  me  ? 
And  what  would  my  fine  acquaintances  say  ?  They 
would  consider  me  mad — or  lost !  " 

"  Whom  do  you  think  I  met  to-day  ?  "  she  began, 
when  she  sat  down  to  dinner  with  Henry  and  Cecilia. 

"  Mrs.  Brandon,  doubtless  !  "  said  Henry.  "  I  saw  her 
sailing  up  Fifth  Avenue  in  all  her  splendor! " 

"No,  indeed!  I  should  not  think  her  worth  men- 
tioning ! " 

"  She  would  regard  you  simply  as  a  mad-woman,  if  she 
heard  you  ; — a  fit  subject  for  bedlam !  " 

"  But  guess! "  she  persisted.  "I  give  you  three  trials  1 " 

"  Man — or  woman  ?  " 

"Neither." 

"  Flesh,  or  fish  ?"  demanded  Henry. 

"  Flesh,  sir ! — and  of  the  loveliest ! " 

"Well,  Mrs.  Sinclair!  She  is  the  handsomest  woman 
I  know  in  society!" 

"  Oh,  Henry,"  exclaimed  Cecilia,  deprecatingly ;  "  she 
has  no  soul  in  her  face." 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  135 

"That  is  not  essential  to  beauty;  no  one,  my  dear, 
not  even  the  most  advanced  scientists  of  our  day,  place 
the  soul  in  the  face.  The  brain  and  the  heart,  I  believe, 
dispute  itr  and  epicureans  assign  it  to  the  stomach. 
So  far  as  I  know,  those  are  the  only  parts  of  the  body 
which  claim  the  honor." 

"But  it  was  no  woman,"  said  Mary,  "so  you  have 
failed  again  1 " 

"  Perhaps  it  was  Randolph's  little  boy,  the  finest  little 
fellow  I've  seen  in  many  a  day;  he  was  brought  round 
to  the  club  the  other  evening  ;  his  im  udence  was 
delightful!" 

"  No  ;  three  guises  and  you  are  out." 

"I  blush  to  confess  that  I  burn  with  curiosity,"  said 
Henry. 

"  Well,  it  was,— Miss  Rosa  Thornton ! " 

"I  hope  not,"  exclaimed  Cecilia,  with  a  severe  look ; 
"  why  should  you  speak  to  her  ?  " 

"But  I  did  speak  to  her — in  fact,  talked  with  her  a 
long  time.  She  is  charming ;  and  I  asked  her  to  come 
and  see  me." 

"  Here  ?  "  gasped  Cecilia. 

"  I  have  no  other  place  to  receive  her  in ! " 

"  I  am  afraid  she  will  contaminate  the  house,"  mused 
Henry,  with  a  grave  face. 

"  You  are  very  satirical!"  cried  Cecilia,  in  indignant 
tones ;  "  I  do  not  think  a  circus-girl  a  proper  person  for 
my  sister  to  be  seen  with,  or  to  be  invited  to  my  house ! " 

"  She  is  no  longer  a  circus-girl,"  said  Mary.  '*  She  told 
me  she  should  never  ride  again;  I  wondered  how  the 
poor  girl  meant  to  earn  her  living,  but  of  course  I  did 
not  like  to  ask." 


136  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

"Why  not?"  said  Henry;  "creatures  that  follow  so 
low  a  calling  are  not  susceptible  of  feeling! " 

"That  is  not  fair!"  said  Mary;  "if  I  have  erred,  and 
am  now  eager  to  correct  my  mistake;  you  surely  ought 
not  to  pelt  me  with  stones.  Really,  Henry  teems  to 
grudge  another's  reaching  the  shore  of  truth  where  he 
stands  himself,  and  thrusts  us  back  breathless,  to 
struggle  again  in  the  waves  of  error." 

"Your  metaphor  is  lame!  There  exists  no  firm  shore 
for  the  honest  truth-seeker — only  heights  that  still  rise 
as  he  nears  them ! " 

"You  make  a  grievous  thing  of  life,  when  you  admit 
no  rest!  "  said  Cecilia;  "  I  thought  the  pleasure  of  seek- 
ing was  fruition,  and  the  meed  of  toil,  repose." 

"  No ;  what  you  call  rest  is  stagnation  ;  but  you  mis- 
use the  word — you  confound  rest  with  repose." 

"What  is  the  difference?"  said  Cecilia. 

"Why,  rest  is  a  temporary  relaxation  from  labor,  the 
healthful  slumber  of  your  faculties  before  a  fresh  and 
resolute  start,  but  repose  is  a  mere  sluggishness,  the 
death  of  one's  powers  past  all  awakening." 

"You  are  nice  in  your  distinctions!  Is  she  coming 
here,  Mary  ?  " 

"Yes;  she  paid  it  would  give  her  pleasure  to  come. 
The  girl  looks  and  speaks  like  a  well-bred  lady,  and  she's 
as  pretty  as  on«  well  could  be!  " 

"And  why  may  ehe  not  be  a  lady  ?  "  asked  Henry. 

"B'-causo,"  returned  Mary,  beginning  to  share  her 
sister's  indignation,  "it  is  very  natural  not  to  expect 
sue  qualities  in  such  a  quarter;  very  few  conventional 
ladies  are  true  ladies,  and  that  a  girl,  who  never  had  the 
advantage  of  education  or  good  society,  should  be  one, 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  137 

is  surprising,  to  say  the  least.  But  she  has  the  right 
air,  nobody  could  deny  it,  and  since  I  confess  so  much 
you  need  not  quarrel  with  me.  By  the  way,  I  met  her 
at  a  jeweler's." 

"At  a  jeweler's?"  said  Cecilia.  ""What  could  she  be 
doing  there?" 

"I  do  not  know." 

" I  hope,"  said  Henry,  "she  was  purchasing  the  finest 
diamonds  in  the  shop." 

"Poor  little  thing!"  said  Mary.  "I  fear  she  has  not 
the  means  to  do  that!  At  any  rate,  I  look  the  greatest 
fancy  to  her,  and  were  I  a  man  I  should  fall  in  love 
with  her" — the  blood  rushed  crimson  to  Cecilia's  brow — 
"I  wonder,"  continued  Mary,  "when  she  will  come;  I 
should  regret  !~eing  out!  " 

"  And  so  should  I,"  said  Henry. 

"I  never,"  exclaimed  Mary,  "heard  anything  so 
absurd  in  my  life!  Just  as  if  her  visit,  sir,  was  meant 
partly  for  you!" 

"  You  may  be  sure  I  shall  take  at  least  half  of  it  to 
myself." 

"  I  shall  bolt  the  door,  and  not  let  you  in ! " 

"  We  shall  see/'  said  Henry,  rising  from  the  table — 
"  lafemme  propose,  mais  Tliomme  dispose  !  " 

"I  think,"  said  Cecilia,  when  she  and  Mary  were  again 
alone,  "  I  do  think  it  was  cruel  to  say  so  much  before 
Henry  in  praise  of  that  girl!  You  know  very  well  how 
I  feel  about  her,  but  you  are  all  in  league  to  make  me 
miserable!" 

"  You  know,  dear  C  cilia,  that  I  would  not  wound 
you  for  the  world ;  but  be  reasonable — tell  me,  are  we 
living  in  a  desert  island  ?  and  if  not,  how  may  any  of  us 


138  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

escape  comparison  with  other  women  ?  We  must  all,  I 
fancy,  stand  or  fall  on  our  own  merits,  and  conquer  by 
virtue  of  positive  attractions, — not  by  the  absence  of 
rival  charms.  Why,  then,  sister  dear,  be  sweet,  indulgent, 
gentle;  yield  everything  but  your  self-respect,  and  be 
sure  that  your  husband  from  a  moment's  attention  to 
others,  will  turn  back  with  joy  to  you !  There  will  always 
be  in  the  world  some  one  who  is  prettier,  or  more  grace- 
ful, or  cleverer  than  we.  If  this  is  to  make  us  unhappy, 
our  lives  will  bo  wretched,  indeed!  But  life  and  love 
were  meant  to  be  blessings,  not  trials.  The  fact  is, 
'ecilia,  you  must  rely  on  the  whole  sum  of  your  attrac- 
tions, good  looks,  breeding,  character,  temperament — all 
combined — and  not  on  any  one  of  them ;  and  to  make 
yourself  worthy  of  another's  faith,  first  of  all  believe  in 
yourself." 

"  I  feel  that  what  you  say  is  true,  and — and  you  are 
very  kind  to  me,  Mary,  but  you  cannot  possibly  under- 
stand whas  it  is  to  give  your  heart  utterly  to  one  man, 
or  you  would  not  think  it  so  easy  to  act  by  rule." 

"I  do  not  imagine  it  easy,  but  I  try  to  remember  that 
a  jealous  and  exacting  disposition  will  not  make  it  a 
whit  easier.  Many  a  woman  doubtless  has  lost  the  affec- 
tion her  husband  had  for  her  by  demanding  too  much 
from  it.  No  heart  can  be  pried  and  burst  open,  but  all 
hearts  yield  kindly  to  the  pressure  of  a  sensitive,  loving 
tact" 

"  You  seem  to  know  a  great  deal ! " 

"  I  am  a  year  older  than  you,"  returned  Mary,  smiling. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

ATE  in  the  afternoon  a  few  days  after  the  con- 
versation recited  in  our  last  chapter,  came  a 
timid  ring  at  Mrs.  Elliot's  door,  and  a  young 
girl  was  ushered  into  the  drawing-room. 
Cecilia  was  standing  near  the  window,  watching  for 
Henry.  She  turnecNehen  the  door  opened,  recognized 
Rosa,  and  bowed  haughtily. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  see  my  sister,  Miss  Marlboro  ?"  she 
said. 

'•"I  have  sent  up  my  card ;  I  hope  she  is  in."  At  this 
moment  Mary  entered. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you.  How  fortunate  I  am ! 
I  have  just  returned  from  A  long  shopping  excursion, 
Cecilia,  I  scarcely  need  introduce  Miss  Thornton — Miss 
Thornton,  this  is  my  sister!" 

"  I  have  seen  Mrs.  Elliot  before,"  said  Rosa,  smiling; 
"  I  used  to  see  every  one  during  my  performances ;  I  mean 
every  one  who  was  worth  seeing." 

"  Have  you  gone  shopping  again  since  I  met  you  ?  " 
inquired  Mary. 

"  No,  I  have  not,  and  you  very  much  flatter  my  errand 
of  the  other  day  by  giving  it  another  name.  I  was  try- 
ing to  dispose  of  a  ring  and  some  littlfc  trinkets  that  had 
been  sent  me  anonymously.  I  needed  the  money  more 
than  the  jewels." 


140  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

"  I  hope  it  was  not  the  beautiful  ring  you  wore  the 
first  night  I  saw  you." 

"  No,"  said  Rosa,  drawing  off  her  glove ;  "  I  could  never 
part  with  that !  You  see  I  wear  it  always !  Its  story  is 
the  only  incident  of  my  life  whose  public  version  hits  the 
truth.  It  was  presented  to  me  by  Queen  Victoria.  I 
was  asked  one  afternoon  to  exhibit  my  horse  before  the 
Court  After  I  had  run  through  my  little  repertoire,  the 
Queen  called  me  to  her,  and  taking  this  ring  from  her 
finger,  placed  it  in  my  hand.  And  then  Prince  Arthur 
came  up  and  patted  Bruno.  I've  a  theory,"  she  said, 
laughing,  "  that  this  ring  has  done  wonders  for  me.  No, 
it  was  another  diamond  that  I  sold." 

"Did  the  jeweler  deal  fairly  with  you  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  had  a  painful  experience!  It  was  the  first 
time  I  ever  tried  to  get  money  in  that  way.  I  felt  a  sort  of 
shame,  and  yet  ashamed  of  being  ashamed; — you  remem- 
ber those  words  of  our  Dante,  *  one  ought  to  fear  only 
what  will  do  harm  to  others/  I  thought  of  them,  and 
they  gave  me  courage." 

"  Do  you  read  Dante  ?  "  said  Mary. 

"Oh,  yes;  he  is  my  countryman  I  " 

"  I  never  could  like  him,  although  I  know  it  is  auda- 
cious to  confess  so  much  to  an  Italian." 

"  I  do  not  care  much  for  him  myself,  except  in  the 
prettier  parts,  where  he  tells  of  Beatrice,  of  Pia  dei 
Ptolemai,  and  of  Francesca  di  Rimini." 

"The  last,"  said  Mary,  "is  indeed  a  lovely  portrait. 
Somebody — Leigh  Hunt,  I  think — calls  Francesca's  story 
'  a  lily  growing  bythe  mouth  of  Tartarus.'  It  is  a  pretty 
description ! " 

"So  it  is,"  said  Rosa,  eagerly,  her  face  lighting  with 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  141 

a  radiant  smile  ;  "  Poor  thing,  she  could  not  have  suf- 
fered so  fearfully  in  hell  since  she  had  Paolo  with  her! 
To  me,  loneliness  seems  more  dreadful  than  anything  in 
the  world." 

Cecilia  drew  near;  in  spite  of  herself,  she  began  to 
feel  interested  in  this  young  girl.  But  lately  she  had 
been  anxiously  expecting  Henry,  now  she  listened  for 
his  step  with  apprehension,  and  prayed  in  her  heart  that 
he  might  not  come. 

"  For  my  part,"  continued  Mary,  "I  think  a  great  deal 
of  pity  has  been  wasted  on  Francesca.  You,  for  instance, 
Cecilia,  would  think  her  fate  perfect  heaven — eternal 
union-^-without  the  possibility  of  escaping  each  from  the 
other." 

"But  that  very  thing,"  said  Cecilia,  "would  be  sure 
to  make  Paolo  detest  her!" 

"  Yes,  that  is  what  Henry  would  call  an  infringement 
of  his  freedom.  And  I  suppose  rigorous  confinement  to 
one  another's  society  left  the  pair  dull  enough  in  the 
end.  Without  the  most  active  brains  and  most  stim- 
ulating surroundings,  how  soon  two  people  would  exhaust 
most  topics  of  common  interest,  and  be  driven,  from 
mere  ennui,  to  quarrel.  I  am  afraid  Dante,  after  all, 
knew  human  nature  better  than  we — better  even  than 
Milton,  perhaps.  Henry  would  say  it  is  because  the 
Italian  was  more  of  a  materialist,  and  never  tells  us  of 
the  mind  being  '  its  own  place,'  making  c  a  heaven  of 
hell,  a  hell  of  heaven,'  but  paints  physical  torture  eating 
in  upon  the  soul,  instead  of  a  racked  conscience  working 
a  woe  unknown  to  the  flesh." 

"  I  do  not  agree  with  Milton,  at  all,"  exclaimed  Cecilia ; 
"  no  one  can  be  utterly  independent  of  circumstances  " — 


142  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

ehe  was  interrupted  in  the  middle  of  her  words,  by 
the  turning  of  a  key  in  the  outer  door.  Presently  she 
heard  Henry's  step  in  the  hall.  She  hoped  he  would 
pass  the  drawing-room  and  go  up  stairs,  as  he  was  wont 
at  that  hour  to  prepare  for  dinner.  But  no,  he  stopped, 
and  seeing  his  wife  and  her  sister,  came  into  the  room. 

"  Where  have  I  been,  Cecilia?  Guess" — he  paused — 
"I  beg  pardon,  I  did  not  know  you  had  company." 

"  My  brother,  Mr.  Elliot— Miss  Thornton  ! " 

"I  am  delighted  to  meet  you  again;  you  were  seated 
with  your  back  to  the  light,  so  that  I  did  not  recognize 
you  at  first."  Rosa  bowed,  but  did  not  rise.  He  came 
across  the  room  and  shook  hands  with  her.  "  What  a 
beautiful  day  we  have  had!  You  did  well  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  fine  weather." 

"We  were  engaged,"  said  Mary,  "in  discourse  far 
more  profound  than  you  would  suspect  us  women  of." 

"  Concerning  dress  ?  "  said  Henry.  "  That  is  com- 
monly the  theme  of  your  dialectics." 

"  For  shame  !  Miss  Thornton  will  think  you  cynical  I 
We  were  comparing  Dante  with  Milton.  Miss  Thornton 
does  not  believe  that  circumstances  can  miss  exerting 
some  weight  in  molding  character." 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Kosa,  "  I  do  not  I  went  yesterday 
to  visit  a  '  ragged  school'  for  Italian  boys.  It  was  heart- 
breaking to  see  their  little  faces  pinched  and  drawn  with 
privations  and  resignation.  They  had  lost  their  parents, 
and  what  should  have  been  a  second  mother  to  tlu-in, 
their  native  land — and  how  could  they  be  expected  to 
grow  up  good  and  happy  boys,  with  no  home  to  shelter, 
no  friend  to  care  for  them." 

"  What  people  call  home  influences,"  said  Henry, 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  143 

"  have  commonly  rather  a  weakening  effect  on  children. 
I  doubt,  indeed,  if  love  be  an  essential  element  in  a  man's 
life.  It  seems  to  relax  the  muscles  of  his  mind,  and  sap 
his  moral  energy." 

"That  is  perfectly  ridiculous,"  cried  Mary,  "what  a 
hideous  monster  you  would  make  of  man — all  sinew,  no 
flesh!" 

"  I  did  not  mean  precisely  no  flesh,  only  no  soft,  no 
flabby  flesh!" 

"Mi:>s  Thornton,  he  is  positively  absurd.  Do  you 
often  visit  those  poor  friendless  children  ?" 

"  Were  1  going  to  stay  here,  I  should  go  often.  They 
are  not  well  supplied  with  teachers,  and  it  is  a  pleasure 
to  teach  them." 

"  Our  ladies,"  said  Henry,  "  have  no  leisure  for  that 
sort  of  thing.  Social  duties  engross  them,  and  open  a 
far  higher  vocation  than  the  imparting  of  ideas,  morals 
and  education  to  ragged  boys,  who  are  only  destined 
to  become  our  fellow-citizens,  our  politicians,  and,  very 
likely,  our  governors." 

"A  great  many  ladies  in  New  York,"  said  Mary, 
"  devote  their  lives  to  public  charities.  You  give  Miss 
Thornton  an  erroneous  impression  of  our  country- 
women." 

"It  is  late,"  said  Rosa,  rising,  "I  hope  I  have  not 
stayed  too  long!" 

"  By  no  means ! — Pray  do  not  go  I " 

"  I  believe  I  must! " 

"  Shall  we  soon  see  you  again  ?  " 

"  I  leave  New  York  almost  immediately  for  Europe. 
I  have  secured  my  passage  in  the  Westphalia,  whinh 
sails  next  Saturday." 


144  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"  Do  you  like  music  ?  "  inquired  Mary. 

"  Dearly ! " 

"I  wish,  then,  you  would  come  and  pass  Thursday 
evening  with  us;  I  am  to  give  a  little  musical  entertain- 
ment." 

"  You  are  too  kind,"  said  Rosa,  "but" — she  hesitated. 

" Do  not  refuse  me !  It  will  be  a  very  informal  affair; 
only  with  your  Italian  ear,  you  will  need  to  be  very  in- 
dulgent to  the  music." 

"I  thank  you.  I  will  come.  Good-morning!"  and 
this  time,  Eosa,  on  taking  leave,  put  out  her  hand. 

"  Good-by !     Remember,  Thursday  evening ! " 

"I  shall  not  forget  it;  good-by!"  She  turned  to 
Cecilia.  "  Good-by ! "  she  said,  looking  up  at  her  with  a 
winning  smile. 

Cecilia  bent  her  head  coldly,  but  Mr.  Elliot  attended 
Rosa  to  the  door,  and  taking  up  his  hat,  asked  leave  to 
escort  her  home. 

"  Oh,  no !    Please  do  not ! " 

"It  is  too  late  for  you  to  walk  back  alone!" 

"I  am  not  afraid.  I  was  very  thoughtless  to  call  at  so 
late  an  hour;  but  indeed,  I  am  not  afraid!" 

"  Yes,  but  others  fear  for  you;  I  must  insist  on  attend- 
ing you." 

"  lie  lias  positively  gone,"  cried  Cecilia,  looking  out 
through  the  curtains;  "  he  has  gone  with  her,  Mary !  " 

"  Well,  dear,  it  would  scarcely  be  gentlemanlike  to  let 
her  go  home  alone  at  this  hour.  It  is  too  dark  for  such 
a  }»ivtty  girl  to  be  in  the  streets  unprotected." 

"  I  believe  she  came  at  that  time  on  purpose  to  meet 
Henry!"  Cecilia  said,  bursting  into  tears;  "and  you 
have  asked  her  here  on  Thursday.  I  never  heard  of  such 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL,  145 

a  thing ;  what  will  people  think  ?  You  would  disgrace 
yourself,  Mary,  even  by  patronizing  a  girl  who  is  utterly 
unworthy;  but  how  could  you  be  so  mad  as  to  ask  her 
to  this  house?  What  right  had  you  to  place  such  a 
person  on  a  footing  of  equality  with  us  ?  Do  not  expect 
me  at  your  party  I  I  would  not  meet  her  again  for  any- 
thing in  the  world.  Look  how  you  drive  me  away  from 
you  for  the  sake  of  that  vulgar  girl ! " 

"Indeed,  Cecilia,  I  did  not  mean  to  affront  you.  I 
acted  thoughtlessly — on  the  impulse  of  a  moment.  But 
I  felt  sorry  for  the  poor  girl's  loneliness.  She  looked  so 
brave  as  she  stood  there,  and  yet  too  young  to  buffet  with 
the  rude  world." 

"You  might  have  gone  to  see  her  at  her  lodgings! 
You  need  not  have  invited  her  here  I  The  story  will  go 
all  over  New  York." 

"I  care  little  for  that,"  said  Mary;  "but  I  do  mind 
giving  you  pain  1 " 

"  No,  you  don't  1  You  give  me  pain,  as  you  would 
give  me  a  tonic,  to  strengthen  me;  but  it  will  do  me  no 
good.  I  hate  her,  and  I  shall  end  with  hating  Henry 
and  you,  and  everybody." 

"  Now,  dear  Cecilia,  do  dry  your  eyes !  Henry  will 
soon  be  here,  for  you  know  Miss  Thornton  does  not 
live  far  away,  and.it  will  lower  you  ttrribly  in  his  esteem 
if  he  finds  you  weeping  because  he  took  her  home.'* 

"  I  care  not  what  he  sees  1 " 

"  But  you  risk  the  loss  of  your  power  over  him  by  this 
course." 

"  I  have  none  to  lose  !  "  answered  Cecilia,  bitterly. 

"  Yi  s,  you  have  great  power  !    You  are  quite  as  pretty 
as  Miss  Thornton,  only  in  a  different  way  1" 
7 


U6  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"  No,  I  am  not."  said  Cecilia,  wiping  her  eyes ;  "  I  am 
not  half  so  interesting,  so  winning;  do  you  suppose  I 
do  not  see  it  ? " 

"A  moment  ago,"  said  Mary,  laughing,  "you  called 
her  vulgar  \ " 

"  I  do  not  care  what  I  say  !  I  am  almost  mad  with 
pain.  Oh,  Mary,  comfort  me  !  Tell  me  I  am  not  grown 
ugly  since  my  marriage  I  " 

"No,  dearest,  I  think  your  face  has  a  great  deal  more 
beauty  in  it  than  before-  It  shows  deeper  feeling,  and  a 
finer  sensibility." 

"Henry  hates  sensibility  ! " 

"  No,  he  likes  it  united  to  good  sense." 

"Alas  !  I  shall  never  hit  the  juste  milieu!" 

"  Who  does  ?  But  do,  dear  Cecilia,  for  heaven's  sake, 
dry  your  tears  1 " 

While  his  wife  and  sister  were  holding  this  colloquy, 
Mr.  Elliot  was  attending  Rosa  to  her  humble  lodgings. 

"Are  those  ladies  sisters?"  inquired  Rosa. 

«  Yes." 

"One  of  them  is  prettier  than  the  other;  the  older  of 
the  two — I  think  you  called  her  Mary — is  rather  fine- 
looking  than  pretty;  and  you,  then,  are  their  brother?" 

Henry  winced,  stammered  a  moment,  and  answered, 
"Yes."  How  could  he,  he  asked  himself,  while  a 
charming  girl  showed  so  kindly  an  interest  in  him,  ob- 
trude upon  her  the  fact  that  he  was  a  husband  ? 

"  What  is  the  younger  lady's  name  ?  " 

Deception,  though  polite,  is  often  embarrassing,  but 
Henry  persisted,  and  anwered,  "  Cecilia." 

"  She  is  proud — is  she  not — far  prouder  than  her  sis- 
ter ?  Which  do  you  love  the  best  ?  " 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  147 

Henry  winced  again.  His  position  was  growing  un- 
tenable; however,  he  must  go  on.  "Cecilia!"  was  his 
reply. 

"13 lit  why  do  you  like  her  better  than  her  sister? 
Pride  is  not  a  virtue." 

"  Don't  yon  approve  of  pride  ?  It  is  the  great  con- 
servative quality,  and  has  its  noble  aspects." 

"  That  depends,  I  think,  on  the  kind ;  there  are  many 
varieties,"  said  Rosa;  "I  can't  think  pride  of  position, 
birth  or  wealth  either  noble  or  great." 

"  What  kind  of  pride,  then,  do  you  like  ?  " 

"A  pride  that  respects  oneself,  independent  of  out- 
ward things.  But  I  am  not  sure  that  pride  of  any  kind 
is  admirable ;  it  is  so  apt  to  be  cruel  and  hard." 

"  Tell  me,  Miss  Thornton,  are  not  you  proud  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  I  am  often  hard  and  cruel  1 " 

"You  !  I  should  as  soon  believe  it,  were  a  pet  lamb 
to  plead  guilty  of  such  an  offense." 

Eosa  laughed.  "  This  is  the  second  time,  since  I  came 
to  America,  that  I  have  been  compared  to  a  lamb.  I 
have  sometimes  tried  to  be  lamb-like,  but  I  doubt  if  I 
should  have  been  altogether  pleased  to  succeed." 

"  How  strange  a  confession  ;  lambs  are  the  most  self- 
sacridcing,  the  most  feminite  creatures  in  the  world. 
Even  the  hard-hearted,  jealous  Juno  softened  to  them. 
Did  you  never  read  Lessing's  fable,  how,  on  a  festal  day, 
when  all  the  beasts  of  the  earth  brought  gifts  to  the 
Queen  of  Heaven,  the  little  lamb  stood  apart,  disconso- 
late. It  had  been  lately  shorn,  and,  having  nothing  to 
give,  not  even  its  fleece,  was  fain,  at  length,  to  offer  itself 
as  a  sacrifice.  Juno  scented  the  sweet  savor,  and  asked 
what  was  burning  on  her  altar.  They  told  her  that  the 


148  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

poor  lamb  had  given  itself  for  a  burnt  offering.  Then 
Juno,  for  the  first  time,  shed  a  tear,  that  all  Jupiter's 
wrongs  had  never  wrung  from  her." 

"  I  shall  remember  your  pretty  story,"  said  Kosa,  "  but 
it  hardly  increases  one's  desire  to  become  a  lamb  unless 
one  could  become  that  identical  one  !  " 

"That  is  scarcely  fair.  Suppose  that  animals  should 
argue  that  they  would  not  become  men  unless  they 
could  be  either  Caesars  or  Shakspeares  !" 

"No;  because  in  being  changed  into  animals,  it  is 
natural  that  we  should  select  some  one  distinguished 
for  its  noble  traits,  whereas  every  animal  aggrandizes 
itself  in  becoming  a  man." 

"  Do  you  know,"  continued  Mr.  Elliot,  "  that  I  have 
met  with  the  loftiest  tra:ts  of  character  quite  as  often  in 
animals  as  in  men  ?  Such  traits,  I  mean,  as  courage, 
gratitude,  generosity,  fidelity." 

Rosa  would  h:vve  heartily  confirmed  his  experience, 
had  she  known  of  her  companion's  falsehood.  As  it  was, 
she  made  no  reply. 

"  You  said  you  were  soon  to  sail  for  Europe  ?  " 

"Ye-,  I  shall  be  on  the  ocean  before  many  days.  I  am 
going  home  to  my  native  land  !  " 

"Is  there  nothing  you  leave  with  regret?" 

Rosa  colored.  "  Oh,  yes  !  "  she  said,  "but  it  is  well  to 
go  while  there  is  something  which  I  c;in  regret  to  leave." 

"  And  the  regrets  that  will  be  felt  for  you,  do  you  not 
care  for  those?" 

"I  shall  doubt  their  existence,"  returned  Rosa, 
quickly. 

"Have  you  no  faith,  then,  in  American  affection  ?  " 

"  Just  as  much  as  I  have  in^ny  other." 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  149 

"You  confess  that  Americans  have  as  good  hearts  as 
Italians  ?  " 

"Better,  perhaps,"  said  Rosa,  "but  not  so  swift  to 
feel,  nor  so  intense  in  their  feelings !  " 

"Why  better,  then?" 

"They  may  be  truer.  Would  not  that  make  them 
belt  r?" 

"  I  am  not  sure.  That  depends  on  your  preference  for 
quan'ity  or  quality  in  affection  !" 

"  I  pivfer  quality,"  said  Rosa. 

"And  I  quantity,"  declared  Henry,  laughing.  "Here 
we  are  at  you-r  door;  I  only  wish  our  walk  had  been 
longer.  You  will  certainly  accept  my  sister's  invitation 
for  Thursday.  I  hope  you  will  allow  me  the  pleasure  of 
taking  you  home  on  that  occasion." 

"  You  are  all  so  kind  to  me,"  said  Rosa,  "  that  you  will 
compel  me  to  regret  America  after  all.  '  The  last  drop 
in  the  cup/  they  say,  'is  sweetest;'  the  sun  is  loveliest 
when  he  sets;  and  so  it  seems  to  be  with  places  at  the 
parting  hour." 

"  Yes,"  said  Henry,  "  and  with  persons ;  we  never 
analyze  and  rank  them  fairly  till  they  are  gone  :  the  best 
men  living  somewhere  disappoint  us,  and  we  see  their 
virtues,  as  it  were,  in  solution.  But  let  death  or  separa- 
tion precipitate  these,  and  we  recognize  the  perfect 
crystals.  Do  you  not  appreciate  your  friends  more 
highly,  now  that  you  are  taking  leave  of  them  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  Good-by !  Thank  you  for  your 
escort." 

"  Not  at  all ;  I  am  grateful  for  the  privilege.  Good- 
by!" 

The  first  person  Henry  saw  on  returning  was  Cecilia, 


150  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

and  he  could  not  fail  to  mark  the  traces  ot  tears  on  her 
cheeks.  Dinner  was  already  served,  and  they  sat  down. 
The  young  wife  struggled  earnestly  to  seem  natural  and 
unconstrained  during  the  repast,  but  in  vain.  She  was 
reserved  and  cold.  Now  Henry's  conscience  had  already 
smitten  him,  and  he  felt  a  fresh  sting  in  the  silent  re- 
proach of  his  wife's  manner.  But  what  right,  suggested 
his  rebellious  spirit — what  right  had  she,  not  knowing 
how  culpable  he  was,  to  put  on  that  martyr  air?  More- 
over, what  rig' it  had  any  woman  to  look  dismal  and 
black,  to  be  forever  weeping,  and  parading  a  broken 
heart?  If  they  would  but  be  cheerful  and  joyous,  men 
could  not  help  loving  them,  as  they  love  the  sunlight ; 
but  when  they  rob  life  of  its  gayety  and  brightness,  to 
leave  it  dreary,  barren,  and  bleak,  they  make  themselves 
but  the  odious  figures  of  their  own  gloomy  landscape. 


CHAPTER  XIL 

.IE  few  intervening  days  were  uneventful,  and 
now  Thursday  had  arrived,  when  Mary's  mu- 
sical party  was  to  come  off.  Mary  was  herself 
an  admirable  musician,  and  often  had  informal 
soirees,  which  were,  as  she  had  told  Rosa,  almost  exclu- 
sively devoted  to  music.  Her  evenings  she  called  them, 
because  Cecilia  cared  little  for  such  entertainments. 

Mary  had  gone  to  her  room  to  prepare  for  the  evening, 
and  Cecilia  sat  alone  in  her  bed-chamber,  when  Henry 
entered. 

"  What ! "  he  exclaimed  ;  "  not  dressed  yet  ?  "  Cecilia 
was  reclining  in  a  chaise  longue,  still  in  the  gown  she 
wore  at  dinner,  her  cheeks  flaming,  her  eyes  strangely 
bright. 

"How  pretty  you  are  !"  her  husband  said,  looking  at 
her  with  tender  admiration.  "How  well  that  indolent 
pose  becomes  you  !  But  do  you  know  how  lute  it  is  ?  I 
have  heard  the  door-bell  ring  already." 

"It  is  Miss  Thornton,  I  suppose,"  said  Cecilia,  the  red 
spots  <>n  her  cheeks  growing  deeper. 

"Make  haste,  then,  Cecilia,  to  go  down  and  receive 
her ! " 

"I  shall  not  go  down  to  the  drawing-room  this  even- 
ing!" 

"  Not  go  down !    Are  you  not  well  ?  "    He  came  over 


152  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

to  where  she  sat,  took  his  wife's  hand  in  his,  held  it  for 
a  moment,  then  pressed  it  to  his  lips.  "  Why,"  he  tuid, 
kindly,  "what  is  the  matter,  Cecilia?  Have  you  got  a 
fever  ? " 

"  Why  should  you  care  if  I  had  ?  "  she  said,  withdraw- 
ing her  hand. 

"I  should  grieve  with  all  my  heart !  But  pi  ay,  dear, 
dress  yourself  I  Be  a  good  girl,  and  come  down  with  me  I 
It  is  really  very  late." 

"  Do  not  let  me  detain  you.  I  have  told  you  I  shall 
not  go  down  stairs  this  evening!  " 

"  Then  you  must  certainly  be  ill  I " 

"I  arn  perfectly  well,  thank  you  ;  but  I  do  not  care  for 
society  of  a  sort  I  am  not  accustomed  to." 

"  Do  you  find  such  among  your  sister's  friends  ?  " 

"Yes,  to-night!" 

"Don't  be  absurd,  Cecilia;  you  are  making  yourself 
ridiculous." 

"  It  is  not  I,  but  Mary  and  you  who  do  that." 

"Well,  you  are  indeed  proud,  as  Miss  Thornton  said; 
but  it  is  of  a  piece  with  your  conduct  of  the  other  day. 
How  could  you  condescend  to  avail  yourself  of  superior 
wealth  and  position,  in  order  to  make  a  poor  little  girl 
uncomfortable — to  humiliate  your  sister's  guest!  Is  that 
your  good  breeding  ?  " 

"  Did  she  call  me  proud,  and  to  you  ?  It  is  the  first 
time,"  she  cried,  bitterly,  "I  ever  heard  of  a  husband's 
list'  uing  to,  and  positively  quoting  offensive  "remarks 
about  his  wife." 

"If,"  said  Henry,  "you  think  the  words  derogatory, 
why  justify  them  in  act  ?  " 

"I  shall  do  precisely  what  I  choose !" 


THE   IT  A  LI AiV  GIRL.  153 

"Then,  my  dear,  you  will  simply  rank  yourself  with 
certain  monsters  of  self-will  who  disfigure  the  pages  of 
history.  You  will  become  a  sort  of  female  Caligula  or 
Commodus — a  second  Catherine  de  Medici,  or  some  such 
charmer.'* 

"  I  do  not  care  whom  I  resemble.  I  only  wish  my  his- 
tory, like  theirs,  were  closed." 

*'  That  wish  is  certain  to  be  gratified  one  day !  "Well. 
I  cannot  wait  for  you  much  longer." 

"I  did  not  dream  you  were  waiting  forme.  I  pre- 
sumed you  were  delayed  with  your  own  toilet.  I  shall 
not  come ! " 

"  Good  evening,  then  !" 

"Good  evening,  Henry." 

He  had  gone,  and  left  Ci  cilia  to  pace  the  room  alone. 
She  went  restlessly  to  the  door,  and  looking  over  the 
balusters,  saw  Rosa  Thornton  come  up  the  stairs  and 
piss  into  the  reception  room.  She  went  back  into  her 
room,  and  threw  herself  on  the  sofa.  "How  I  hate  that 
girl,"  she  said,  and  started  to  her  feet  again  with  a 
feeling  of  wild  rage.  "I  believe  I  could  almost  kill  her." 
Presently  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"Who  is  it?" 

"'Tis  I, •  Cecilia!"  and  Mary  entered.  "Do  come 
down  stairs!  Henry  says  you  are  obdurate;  1  ut  please, 
dearest,  not  to  make  me  unhappy,  and  spoil  my  evening, 
and  II  nry's  as  well." 

"  Henry  unhappy  ! " 

"Yes,  you  know  he  will  be,  and  you  absent  yourself 
on  purpose  to  cloud  his  enjoyment  Be  magnanimous. 
Do  come  down." 

•"'  No,  I  will  not !    I  cannot!    I  feel  ill  and  miserable  ! 
7* 


154:  THE    ITALIAN  GIRL. 

Go  back  to  your  guests !    But  I  thank  you  for  coming 
to  me.     I  am  not  angry  with  you." 

"I  am  so  sorry,  dear  Cecilia!  I  entreat  you  not  to 
make  yourself  unhappy.  Bi-lieve  me,  you  have  no  cause." 
Mary  stooped,  and  would  have  kissed  her  sister,  but 
Cecilia  turned  away  her  head,  and  Mary,  with  another 
look  of  kindly  sympathy,  closed  the  door. 

Rosa  Thornton's  appearance  in  Mary's  drawing-room 
created  an  unusual  sensation,  and  indeed,  no  contrast 
could  well  be  greater  than  that  between  the  new-comer 
and  the  ladies  present.  She  was  attired  in  a  plain  gown 
of  black  silk,  finished  at  the  throat  with  a  linen  collar. 
Her  hair  was  rolled  back  simply  in  large  dark  coils 
about  her  shapely  head.  She  wore  no  ornament  what- 
ever. Mary,  the  moment  she  saw  her,  went  forward 
and  greeted  her  cordially :  "  I  am  delighted  to  see  you ;  I 
have  thought  of  you  so  often  since  you  were  last  here." 

"And  I  of  you,"  said  Rosa. 

"In  heaven's  name!"  whispered  a  lady  at  the  further 
end  of  the  room,  as  she  lifted  her  eye-glass,  "  who  is  that 
person — look — whom  Miss  Marlboro  is  talking  with  ? 
She  resembles,  in  the  most  extraordinary  way — but  no, 
I  am  not  insane;  it  cannot  be!" 

"I  feel  quite  confident  of  my  own  sanity)"  said  Mr. 
Livingstone,  who  stood  beside  the  last  speaker,  "and  I 
am  equally  certain  that  the  young  lady  is  the  very  person 
you  take  her  for." 

"I  will  not  believe  it!  Miss  Marlboro  could  not  so 
far  forget  herself." 

"  As  to  remember  another  kindly,  do  you  mean  ?  "  re- 
turned Mr.  Livingstone.  "  To  me,  on  the  contrary,  that 
seems  just  like  Miss  Marlboro." 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  155 

"It  is  not  possible ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Brandon,  "It  is 
not  possible  that  Miss  Marlboro  has  so  far  ignored 
all  she  owes  to  the  great  moving  panorama  of  society,  as 
to  ask  the  Signorina  Rosa  to  her  house  I " 

"It  is  just  because  the  panorama  moves,  that  our 
hostess  has  had  the  good  sense  to  invite  the  person  you 
speak  of,"  returned  Mr.  Livingstone. 

"  Miss  Marlboro's  taste,  at  any  rate,"  rejoined  Mrs. 
Brandon,  "  seems,  in  this  case,  very  questionable." 

"I  consider,"  said  the  lady  who  had  first  spoken,  "I 
consider  her  conduct  quite  unpardonable;  if  Miss  Marl- 
boro wished  for  the  society  of  such  a  person,  she  was  at 
liberty  to  enjoy  it;  but  she  owed  us  the  choice  of  re- 
fusing or  consenting  to  meet  her  new  acquaintance." 

"  I  think  I  will  ask  for  an  introduction  to  the  young 
lady  in  question,"  said  Mr.  Livingstone,  bowing,  and 
leaving  them. 

"  Is  he,  too,  demented  ?  Here,  my  dear,  you  see  the 
social  correlative  of  communism  ! '' 

"The  glass  of  fashion,"  cried  Mrs.  Brandon,  "has 
actually  gone  over  to  speak  to  her." 

Mr.  Livingstone  had  crossed  the  room,  and  after  the 
interchange  of  a  few  merry  words,  moved,  with  Mary,  to 
where  Rosa  sat,  quite  apart  from  the  lestof  the  company. 
Mr.  Elliot  had  already  observed  that  she  was  alone,  but 
could  not  free  himself,  as  he  was  paying  his  devoirs  to 
another  person.  Rosa  blushed  when  she  saw  Mary  and 
Mr.  Livingstone  approach,  and  slightly  averted  her  head. 

"Miss  Thornton,  permit  me  to  present  Mr.  Living- 
stone!" 

"I  have  already  the  pleasure  of  knowing  Mr  Living- 
stone," she  said. 


156  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

"Indeed I"  said  Mary,  arching  her  brows  (had  she 
forgotten,  or  did  she  choose  to  ignore,  the  supper  at 
Delmonico's?)  "  Since  you  are  also  acquainted  with  my 
brother,  you  will  scarcely  feel  yourself  a  stranger  here. 
Pray  excuse  me,  I  must  go  and  attend  to  other  guests." 

"  Mr.  Livingstone,"  Kosa  began,  when  Mary  had  left 
them,  "  I  have  longed  to  see  you  to  say  how  grateful  I  am 
for  your  kindness  in  finding  me  a  purchaser  for  Bruno. 
I  owe  you  more  than  I  can  utter,  more  than  you  will  ever 
know,"  she  continued,  raising  her  eyes  to  his  face.  "  It 
is  everything  to  me.  You  have  bestowed  on  me  my 
freedom  and  a  future!  The  day  will  come,  I  hope,"  she 
added,  "when  you  may  hear  such  things  of  Rosa  Thorn- 
ton as  will  make  you  glad  to  have  once  befriended  her!" 

"  I  shall  always  be  glad,  whether  I  hear  of  you  or 
not,"  he  said  earnestly,  "to  have  been  the  instrument — 
even  in  the  most  indirect  way — of  serving  you.  I  hope 
it  is  not  indiscreet  on  my  part  to  ask  where  that  future 
may  lie  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  It  is  still  indistinct,  even  to  my  own 
eyes." 

"  In  that  case,  I  admit,  it  would  hardly  be  visible  to 
another." 

"Is  Miss  Marlboro  about  to  sing  ?  "  said  Rosa. 

"Yes,  and  she  sings  delightfully." 

M;iry  had  taken  her  seat  at  the  piano,  and  gave  a  little 
German  song  with  taste  and  feeling.  Rosa  turned  to 
Mr.  Livingstone — 

"How  swert  her  voice  is! — so  sympathetic,  it  goes 
straight  to  the  heart." 

"Do  you  sing?"  inquired  Mr.  Livingstone. 

"Everybody  sings  after  a  fashion  in  my  country.     You 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  157 

know  the  old  saving  that  we  Italians  are  born  with 
musical  boxes  in  our  throats.  My  own  voice  has  never 
been  cultivated,  but  I  do  not  think  it  has  volume  enough 
to  make  me  regret  its  want  of  training." 

"  Italy  is,  indeed,  a  musical  land ;  and,  in  keeping  with 
all  the  rest,  you  have  the  sweetest  singing-bird  in  the 
world— that  we  know  only  in  poetry — the  nightingale!" 

"  Did  you  ever  see  one  ?  " 

"  Never." 

"  I  had  one,  once.  He  was  such  a  darling — in  his 
russet  coat,  and  with  an  eye  so  human  in  its  expression 
that  it  almost  startled  you  to  meet  it.  He  knew  me 
well,  and  when  I  told  him  to  sing  he  seemed  really  to 
load  the  air  with  song." 

"  Such  a  bird  might  have  won  you  to  believe  in  the 
transmigration  of  souls! " 

"I  am  not  sure  that  I  know  precisely  what  that 
means,"  she  answered. 

"  In  the  metempsychosis ! "  said  Mr.  Livingstone, 
smiling. 

ROS.I  looked  more  puzzled  than  ever. 

"I  mean  the  su  erstitious  notion,  or  tenet,  that  the 
soul  after  death,  leaving  its  human  dwelling,  passes  into 
some  animal  or  bird;  and  again,  after  a  long  interval, 
returns  to  its  primitive  form ;  so  that  it  never  really 
dies,  but  wanders  forever  from  one  habitation  to  another." 

"  Remembering,"  asked  Rosa,  "  in  its  present  abode  to 
whom  or  what  it  has  previously  belong*  d  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  there  we  are  left  in  the  dark." 

Rosa  shuddered.    "  What  a  fearful  doctrine  ! " 

"  Why  does  it  strike  you  as  so  terrible  ?  It  involves 
at  least  the  assurance  that  your  soul  does  not  die." 


158  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"  But  it  does  die  to  me ! "  rejoined  Rosa,  "  if  I  pass 
into  the  body  of  ft  nightingale,  and  forget  utterly  my 
human  life.  If  that  former  existence  has  left  not  a  trace 
on  the  memory,  might  it  not  as  well  be  annihilated  ?" 

"  Perhaps  it  is  rather  a  freezing  creed,"  said  Mr.  Liv- 
ingstone. "It  might  tend,  I  suppose,  to  make  one 
reckless  of  the  future ;  but  it  need  not  do  so  ;  and,  after 
all,  that  doctrine  of  Pythagoras  may  involve  the  highest 
lessons.  Suppose,  for  instance,  we  lead  self-denying 
lives — as  many  Christians  avow  they  do—  merely  to  secure 
a  splendid  prize,  like  eterral  life,  we  certainly  receive 
more  than  we  have  earned — we  are  embezzlers,  so  to  speak, 
of  immortality!  Our  aim,  it  seems  to  me,  would  be  far 
purer  if  we  did  high  and  noble  deeds,  with  no  hope  of 
reward  or  recognition,  merely  to  keep  our  own  self- 
respect;  and  because  we  should  loathe  ourselves  if — 
bat  they  are  preparing  to  give  us  some  more  music ;  we 
must  postpone  our  metaphysics  a  few  moments." 

Mary  played  a  duet  with  an  Italian  gentleman.  Rosa, 
when  they  had  finished,  glanced  at  her  companion,  and 
he  asked  if  she  had  liked  it. 

"  Not  very  much.  I  cannot  enjoy  the  piano  ;  I  always 
feel  as  if  music  were  forced  out  of  it  against  its  will ; 
while,  with  some  other  musical  instruments,  sweet 
sounds  seem  native  to  them,  and  flow  forth  gladly  at  a 
touch.  But  the  truth  is,  I  did  not  listen  very  attentively." 

"  I  might  say  as  much,"  said  Mr.  Livingstone. 

"I  was  thinking,"  said  Rosa,  "of  our  conversation, 
and  trying  to  follow  your  train  of  thought." 

"And  what  conclusion  did  you  reach  ?" 

"Shall  I  tell  you  frankly?" 

"Yes,  I  love  frankness." 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  159 

"I  thought  you  were  mistaken  in  what  you  said,  and 
that  it  is  better  to  do  right  for  God's  sake  than  for  our 
own  ! " 

"  You  are  right ! "  and  he  looked  at  her  attentively. 
"  If  it  is  quite  certain  that  we  do  it  for  God's  sake,  and 
not  with  an  eye  to  God's  bounty,  you  are  right." 

Mr.  Elliot  was  standing  near  them,  and  joined  them 
at  this  moment. 

"  Did  you  like  my  sister's  singing  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Very  much  !  I  was  just  saying  to  Mr.  Livingstone 
that  her  voice  has  a  sympathetic  quality  which  ranks 
with  us  as  the  highest  merit." 

"  She  learned  to  sing  in  your  country." 

"  Did  she  ?     Then  Miss  Marlboro  has  been  in  Italy?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  I  Mary  is  something  of  an  artist.  She  means 
to  visit  Italy  again  very  soon.  Mary's  temperament  is 
rather  what  we  men  call  Bohemian  1 " 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  said  Rosa. 

"Well,  naturally  independent — unlike  most  of  your 
sex — of  man's  protection.  She  can  take  care  of  herself." 

"  I  presume,"  said  Rosa,  smiling,  "that,  under  your 
definition,  I,  too,  am  somewhat  of  a  Bohemian  ?  " 

"No,  I  should  not  say  you  were." 

"  Where  is  your  other  sister  to-night  ?  " 

Mr.  Elliot  reddened  slightly  as  he  replied : 

"You  mean  Cecilia?  She  was  not  well  enough  to 
comedown  this  evening.  Excuse  me  for  a  moment;  I 
must  go  and  speak  to  that  young  lady  yonder  who  is 
standing  quite  alone." 

Mr.  Elliot  hastened  away  on  his  charitable  errand, 
while  Rosa,  turning  to  Mr.  Livingstone,  remarked  that 
the  other  sister  was  the  prettier — "  But,  as  I  told  Mr. 


160  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

Elliot,  I  like  Miss  Mary  better;  she  has  a  charming 
face." 

"The  other  sister!  You  mean  his  wife,"  said  Mr. 
Livingstone. 

"  His  wife  !  I  did  not  know  he  was  married.  "Which 
is  she  ?  Pray  point  her  out ! " 

"  His  wife  is  the  lady  you  took  for  a  sister — whom  you 
called  the  prettier — although  I,  too,  prefer  Miss  Mary's 
face." 

"Do  you  mean  that  she  he  calls  Cecilia  is  his  wife  ?" 
said  R  >sa,  opening  her  eyes  and  staring  fixedly  at  Mr. 
Livingstone. 

"  Yes;  Cecilia  is  Mrs.  Elliot!" 

Rosa  bit  her  lip  and  turned  her  head,  but  her  com- 
panion could  see  the  blood  tinge  her  throat  and  cheek. 
Could  it  be,  he  asked  himself,  that  she  felt  a  preference 
for  Elliot  ?  She  could  not  have  seen  enough  of  him  for 
that.  But  would  Elliot  convey  a  false  impression — pre- 
tend that  Cecilia  was  his  sister?  He  had  listened  to  the 
conversation  that  had  passed  between  them,  and  noticed 
a  trace  of  confusion  in  Elliot's  manner. 

Mary  was  singing  again.  It  wa?  a  little  ballad  which 
Mr.  Livingstone  particularly  liked  and  always  asked  for. 
She  glauced  across  at  him  now,  and  smiled  amid  her 
singing. 

" How  pretty  that  is,"  said  Rosa;  " her  voice  grows 
upon  one  strangely.  She  has,  indeed,  many  gifts"." 

"Yes;  Miss  Marlboro  is  one  of  the  must  charming 
persons  I  ever  met." 

"  She  looks  so  truly  good,  too  ! "  said  Rosa. 

'•And  sh--  is  what  she  looks!  She  is  coming  toward 
us,  with  the  young  Italian  who  joined  her  in  the  duet." 


THE    ITALIAN   GIRL.  161 

"Is  he  an  Italian  ?     He  does  not  look  it" 

"In  one  way  or  another,  'the  look,'  as  you  call  it, 
wears  off  in  America." 

"  I  suppose  we  bleach  here  ! "  said  Rosa,  laughing. 

"  Physically  or  morally  ?  " 

"  In  both  ways,  perhaps !  " 

"Miss  Thornton,  I  may  not  have  a  chance  to  sp^ak 
to  you  again.  May  I  escort  you  home  this  evening  ?  " 

"  I  thank  yon,  bnt  Mr.  Elliot  has  already  proffered  his 
services.  I  would  have  much  preferred  to  accept  yours, 
believe  me ! " 

"I  have  brought  yon,"  said  Mary,  joining  them,  "one 
of  your  own  countrymen,  Signor  Bosceti." 

Mary  glanced  at  Mr.  Livingstone — "Will  you  come 
with  me  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure  !  Do  your  ears  burn  ?  "  he  said,  as 
they  moved  away. 

"  No ;  why  should  they  ?  Red  ears  are  very  plebeian* 
and,  though  an  American — " 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that  ?  " 

"Yes,  a  true  American  ;  but  I  have,  I  presume,  refined 
tastes!" 

"Which,  of  course,  would  not  suffer  your  ears  to 
burn?" 

"  I  hope  not,"  she  said. 

"Well,  your  cheeks  might  flush  at  any  rate,  for  Miss 
Thornton  and  I  have  been  saying  most  charming  things 
about  you ! " 

"  Thank  yon,"  said  Mary,  "  compliments  are  so  rarely 
sincere  that  I  prefer  them  to  be  made  anywhere  rather 
than  to  my  face." 

"  Pardon  me,  you  are  wrong ;  to  your  face  no  lie  could 


162  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

ever  be  uttered,  while  many  an  untruth  might  pass  cur- 
rent behind  your  back." 

"  That  sounds  like '  Save  me  from  my  friends,  and  I  will 
deal  with  my  enemies ! ' ' 

"Not  at  all!  I  meant  it  in  a  very  different  sense. 
Your  face  is  so  frank  and  true  that  no  man  would  dare 
confront  it  with  a  falsehood  !" 

Mary  looked  up  at  him  and  smiled.  Not  far  from 
where  they  were  standing  at  this  moment  was  Mr.  Elliot} 
engaged  in  conversation  with  Mrs.  Brandon. 

"  Yes,"  that  lady  was  saying,  "  I  hope  she  may  marry 
well.  You  know  it  is  a  common  romance  in  Italy — 
some  noble  linking  his  splendid  name  to  beauty  which 
he  has  discovered  in  humble  guise !  It  may  be  Cin- 
derella's story  over  again  ! " 

"  You  women  always  make  a  romance  of  marriage," 
said  Henry,  "  while  we  men  incline  to  think  that  the 
wedding  day  ushers  in  the  prose  of  life.  Who  is  it — 
Eochefoucauld  ? — says  that  marriage  is  the  tomb  of  love  ? 
For  my  own  part,  I  hold  death  and  marriage  to  be  the 
rival  doomsmen  of  mankind ;  only  death  has  this  to 
recommend  him,  that  while  he  can  free  us  from  mar- 
riage, marriage,  unluckily,  cannot  insure  us  against 
death." 

Mary  had  overheard  what  Mr.  Elliot  said,  and,  inter- 
rupting him — "  Henry,"  she  said,  "will  you  kindly  see 
if  supper  is  nearly  ready  ?  "  Henry  moved  away  to  ex- 
ecute her  orders,  and  Mary,  dropping  Mr.  Livingstone's 
arm,  followed  him  to  the  hall. 

"Henry,"  she  began,  when  they  were  out  of  earshot — 
there  was  anger  now  in  Mary's  eyes — "it  is  unfeeling 
and  uncivil  to  speak  as  you  do.  I  have  al \vays  taken 


THE    ITALIAN   GIRL.  163 

your  side  against  Cecilia,  but  I  must  say  you  have  no 
right  to  make  such  remarks.  They  are  discourteous  to 
my  sister,  who  is  not  here  to  defend  herself." 

"A  woman  never  understands  a  jest,"  said  Henry. 

"  Some  things,  Henry,  ought  never  to  be  matter  for 
jests — some  jests  ought  not  to  be  understood."  Mary 
said  this  gravely;  then,  leaving  her  brother,  returned  to 
Mr.  Livingstone. 

"  You  looked  vexed,"  he  said. 

"  I  was ;  the  ices  had  not  come." 

"  Was?    Is  your  anger  cooled,  then  ?" 

"  Yi-s,  with  their  arrival ! " 

"I  see  a  movement  toward  supper,  May  I  offer  my 
arm  ? " 

"  I  want  my  fan,"  said  Mary ;  "  it  is  on  the  table." 

Mr.  Livingstone  brought  it  to  her,  smiling — "  Here  is 
your  mystic  engine — 

''  Which  coolness  gives  the  matchless  dame, 
To  every  other  breast  a  flame." 

"  That  might  be  apropos  if  I  could  handle  it  like  a 
Spanish  woman  I  dare  say  our  little  Italian  friend  could 
wield  it  with  a  charm  that  would  justify  your  quotation. 
How  attractive  she  is !  But  how  sad  is  her  position !  I 
pity  her  from  the  bottom  of  my  soul.  Do  you  know  I 
feel  a  sort  of  sisterly  responsibility  that  positively  weighs 
upon  me  whenever  I  look  at  her  ?  If  I  were  independent 
— quite  alone  in  the  world — she  should  share  my  home." 

There  was  genuine  admiration  in  her  companion's 
eyes  as  he  answered :  "  It  would  be  just  like  you  !  You 
a iv  always  generous  !" 

'*  There  is  nothing  generous  in  what  I  said  just  now. 


164  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

I  am  not  fond  of  the  world ;  on  the  contrary,  I  often 
find  myself  hating  it,  and  wonder  why  I  continue  to 
live  in  it  Look,  for  instance,  at  those  horrid  people 
yonder — my  pretended  friends,  too!  They  are  all  hud- 
dled together  at  one  end  of  the  room,  lest  their  nobility 
should  come  in  contact  with  that  poor  little  girl.  I  ft-el 
in  such  a  rage  that  I  am  longing  to  speak  my  mind  to 
them,  and  if  this  were  not  my  own  house  I  would.  I 
was  so  glad  to  see  you  devoting  yourself  to  her.  Your 
attentions  created  no  end  of  excitement,  and  did  the 
witnesses  a  great  deal  of  good.  Suppose  we  start  a  social 
crusade,  Mr.  Livingstone — stitch  crosses  on  our  breasts, 
unfurl  the  banner  of  fraternity,  and  fight  for  the  true 
faith!" 

"  I  would  gladly  associate  myself  with  you  in  any  un- 
dertaking; I  should  need,  I  fear,  no  common  armor — 
but  a  double-proof  mail  that  would  preserve  me  from 
friends  no  less  than  foes." 

Mary  blushed.  "  W(  would  both  wear  armor  of  that 
kind,"  she  said.  "  See,  they  are  returning  to  the  draw- 
ing-room. Is  it  so  late  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  seems  to  me  very  early." 

"Are  you  going?"  said  Mary  to  Rosa,  who  had  ap- 
proached to  take  leave. 

"  Yes;  I  have  to  thank  you  for  a  delightful  evening. 
Will  you  kindly  ask  your  brother  if  he  is  ready  to  take 
me  home  ?  I  am  very  sorry  to  trouble  him." 

"  It  will  be  a  pleasure.     I  will  go  and  tell  him." 

"  When  do  you  sail,  Miss  Thornton  ?  "  said  Mr.  Liv- 
ingstone, when  Mary  had  left  them. 

"  On  Saturday." 

"  So  soon  ?  " 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  165 

"Yes,  and  I  am  glad  it  is  so  soon!"  She  spoke 
quickly,  and  the  face  which  she  turned  to  her  companion 
was  very  pale. 

"  Will  you  regret  America  ?  " 

"  I  hope  that  I  shall  have  nothing  to  regret.  But  I 
shall  not  forg«  t  your  or  Miss  Marlboro's  kindness." 

Mr.  Livingstone  did  not  trust  himself  to  speak.  Mary 
had  returned  to  them. 

"  My  brother  will  be  with  you  in  a  moment.  Let  me 
go  with  you  to  the  reception-room." 

Rosa  put  out  her  hand  to  Mr.  Livingstone:  "Good- 
night and  good-by !" 

"Good-night;  I  hope  to  see  you  again."  Eosa's  hand 
lay  in  his  for  a  moment,  but  he  did  not  venture  to  press 
it. 

Something  seemed  to  rise  in  the  young  girl's  throat, 
and  she  turned  away. 

"I  shall  not  forget  you!"  whispered  Mary,  as  they 
moved  toward  the  reception-room. 

The  tears  stood  in  Eosa's  eyes;  "Nor  I  you!"  she 
answered. 

"Let  me  help  you  with  your  cloak!  I  dare  say  I 
shall  meet  you  one  day  in  Italy.  Indeed,  I  feel  quite 
sure  of  it.  God  bless  you ! "  and  Mary  kissed  her.  "  To 
us  Americans,  your  Italian  distances  seem  trifling,  and 
we  can  hardly  fail  to  meet  if  I  go  there !  " 

"  I  shall  know  when  you  come,"  said  Eosa ;  "  I  shall 
feel  something  drawing  at  my  heart-strings,  and  I  will 
never  rest  until  I  find  you ! " 

"  Here  is  my  brother  come  to  claim  you.  Once  more. 
good-by,  and  God  bless  you  ! " 

Eosa  pressed  her  hand  in  silence,  for  she  could  not 


166  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

speak.  Mr.  Elliot  opened  the  door  for  her,  and  in  a 
moment  more  it  closed,  and  divided  her  from  the  few 
friends  she  possessed  in  the  world. 

"  Take  my  arm,"  said  Mr.  Elliot. 

"  No,  thank  you ! "  was  the  cold  reply;  and  they  came 
down  the  steps  and  moved  away,  not  unseen,  however, 
by  poor  Cecilia,  who,  with  straining  eyes,  peered  after 
their  retreating  forms. 

*'  There  they  go ! "  she  murmured.  "  He  offered  her 
his  arm,  but  she  did  not  take  it.  Why  not  ?  Oh,  I  wish 
they  would  go  quickly  and  that  he  were  at  home  again  ! 
He  did  not  come  up  once  in  the  whole  evening  to  see 
how  I  was  I  "  She  turned  impatiently  from  the  window, 
and  began  once  more  to  pace  the  floor. 

Meanwhile  Kosa  and  her  escort  proceeded  on  their  way. 

"  Take  my  arm,"  said  Henry;  "  I  must  insist  upon  it; 
the  night  is  dark,  and  you  may  stumble  at  any  moment." 

"  There  is  no  danger  of  that ;  I  can  see  perfectly  well." 

"  Did  you  enjoy  the  evening  ?  It  made  me  very 
unhappy  not  to  be  able  to  talk  to  you.  Livingstone 
engrossed  you  most  unfairly." 

"  I  had  a  delightful  evening  I " 

"  Had  you  ?  Let  me  hope  it  did  not  come  from  Liv- 
ingstone's attentions." 

Kosa  blushed,  and  made  no  answer. 

"  I  will  tell  you  why,"  continued  Henry,  "  if  you  will 
promise  me  that  the  thing  shall  go  no  further.  It  is 
whispered  that  Livingstone  has  already  several  wives; 
that  in  fact,  under  the  disguise  of  a  vestryman  in  Charity 
Church,  he  is  propagating  the  doctrines  of  Brigluun 
Young.  And  for  a  girl  so  artless,  charming,  and  good 
as  yourself — " 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  161 

"I  do  not  believe  what  you  say,"  replied  Rosa.  "I 
think  you  are  a  bad,  wicked  man." 

"Why,"  said  Henry,  "what  crime  have  I  committed, 
except  that  of  wishing  you  well  ?  " 

"I  do  not  thank  you  for  your  good  wishes!  I  would 
as  lief  you  wished  me  ill!" 

"  Between  persons  of  opposite  sexes,  it  is  apt  to 
amount  to  the  same  thing,"  said  Henry. 

"Mr.  Elliot,"  asked  Rosa,  abruptly,  "  why  did  you  tell 
me  the  other  day  that  both  of  those  ladies  whom  I  met 
at  your  house  were  your  sisters?  Only  one  is  your  sis- 
ter, and  she  only  by  marriage;  the  prettier  and  prouder 
of  the  two  is  your  wife.  Why  did  you  deny  it  ?" 

Mr.  Elliot  made  no  answer,  and  she  went  on,  her  lips 
quivering :  "  It  was  a  mean,  low,  dishonorable  act  1 " 

"Did  Livingstone  tell  you  she  was  my  wife?"  said 
Henry.  "It  was  a  cruel  breach  of  confidence." 

"  No  matter  who  told  me,  it  was  the  truth  !  And  how 
dare  you  call  yourself  a  gentleman,  when  you  can  take 
such  a  lie  upon  your  lips  ?  How  dare  you  look  your  poor 
wife  in  the  face  ?  I  pity  her  1 " 

"  There  is  one  kind  of  pity,  Miss  Thornton,"  said 
Henry,  "  which  I  should  not  disdain  to  have  you  feel  for 
myself.  Mrs.  Elliot  does  not  need  your  pity." 

"  She  needs  it  sorely,  and  the  pity  of  every  woman  who 
knows  you  as  you  are  !  I  would  rather  a  thousand  times 
remain  a  humble,  ignorant  girl — an  outcast  from  society 
— than  lose  all  the  wealth  and  position  in  the  worM 
and  be  wife  of  yours  ! " 

"And  I,  believe  me,  Miss  Thornton,  would  rather 
have  all  the  wealth  in  the  world  than  have  you  an  out- 
cast,"  replied  H.nry. 


168  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"  I  do  not  fear  your  satire,"  said  Rosa,  "  you  know  I 
am  right  Go,  Mr.  Elliot,  kneel  down,  and  ask  Heaven 
to  forgive  the  wrong  you  did  your  wife!  She  had  a 
proud  look,  I  thought.  Poor  thing  !  she  had  need  of 
pride.  But  I  spoke  rashly ;  I  knew  not  then  what  her 
husband  was!  Peter,  in  sore  trial  and  peril  of  life, 
denied  his  Master,  but  the  man  who,  without  shadow  of 
cause,  could  deny  his  wife,  is  far  baser,  wickeder  than 
he  I" 

"Your  indignation,"  said  Henry,  "does  you  credit* 
and  increases  that  admiration  which  caused,  and,  may 
I  hope,  excuses  my  concealment.  Will  you  not  forgive 
me?" 

"  No.  You  must  ask  forgiveness  of  your  own  con- 
science ! " 

"The  very  last  person  in  the  world,"  said  Henry, 
"  whom  I  should  wish  to  appeal  to.  I  prefer  to  plead 
my  cause  even  before  you.  I  entreat  you  not  to  be 
vindictive/' 

"  What  does  it  matter  to  you  what  I  think  or  feel  ?  I 
am  only  a  poor  circus  girl  1 " 

"  You  are  all  that  a  queen  can  be,"  said  Henry,  "  a 
true  woman ;  but  like  all  your  class,  Miss  Thornton, 
you  are  cruel.  Why  did  not  a  just  Heaven  make  beauty 
kind,  and  homely  women  alone  cruel  ?  I  should  so  have 
ordered  it." 

"  Why  did  not  Heaven  make  clever  men  good,  and 
stupid  men  alone  bad?"  replied  Rosa.  "Good-nighf, 
Mr.  Elliot  Thank  you  for  escorting  me  home." 

"Good-night,"  said  Henry,  and  lingered  a  moment. 
"  Miss  Thornton,"  he  said,  "you  do  not  think  me  your 
friend.  Well,  praise  from  an  enemy  should  be  doubly 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  169 

sweet  I  have,  at  If-ast,  this  one  merit,  that  I  judge  my 
fellows  as  they  are.  You  are  going  abroad  to  follow  a 
career.  Your  face,  Miss  Rosa,  has  in  it  the  promise  of 
greatness.  In  any  career,  I  know  that  you  will  win 
success  and  fame.  Many  years  later  you  will  learn  this 
truth,  that  the  only  persons,  good  or  bad,  whom  we  love, 
are  those  who  appreciate  us  before  the  world ;  those  who 
foretell  the  flower  in  the  bud.  I  wish  you  good  speed." 

Rosa  was  touched.  "  Farewell,  Mr.  Elliot,"  she  said. 
"  I  wish  you  whatever  it  is  best  you  should  find.  Be- 
lieve me,  goodness  is  the  only  thing  that  repays  us  with 
any  happiness.  That  is  the  only  return  I  can  make  for 
your  encouragement.  Good-night." 

Henry  had  accompanied  her  to  her  door,  which  she  had 
opened  with  a  pass-key,  and  now  closed  behind  her.  He 
turned  away — he  was  angry  with  himself.  He  knew 
Rosa  had  done  well  to  rebuke  him.  and  had,  indeed, 
be.-n  sfung  to  the  quick.  In  a  ruffled  mood  he  walked 
swiftly  home.  There,  at  the  window,  was  Cecilia,  watch- 
ing for  his  return. 

"  Thank  God,  he  has  come  back  so  soon ! "  she  mur- 
mured, clasping  her  hands  and  withdrawing  hastily  from 
the  window,  lest  he  should  enter  and  find  her  there. 
He  was  already  on  the  stairs. 

"  Still  up  ? "  he  said,  a?,  opening  the  door,  he  dis- 
covered Cecilia.  "  It  is  very  late ;  why  don't  you  retire  ? " 

"I  waited  to  say  good-night,  Henry!" 

'•  What  nonsense !     We  are  not  children ! " 

*•  Henry,  dear,  I  feel  so  ill !  " 

"  Of  course  you  do,  after  sitting  here  in  the  cold  the 
whole  evening!" 

"But  I  am  not  cold,  dear,  I  am  very  hot !" 


!70  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"Well,  there  is  nothing  marvelous  in  that!  You  per- 
sist in  taking  cold,  and  that  brings  on  a  fever.  Why 
don't  you  go  to  bed  ?" 

"  I  will,  if  you  will  say  good-night  kindly.'* 

"Good-nightl" 

"Oh,  Henry,  my  heart  is  breaking!  Why,  why  do 
you  treat  me  so  freezmgly?  Are  you  in  love  with  this 
Rosa  Thorn  ton?" 

"I  should  not  put  it  so  strongly  as  that,"  replied 
Henry,  and  passed  into  his  own  room. 

Poor  Cecilia  flung  herself  down  on  her  bed  and  sobbed 
aloud. 


CHAPTEE  XIII. 

XLY  two  days  remained  for  Eosa  in  New  York, 
and  they  were  sad,  lonely  days.  She  received 
a  short,  but  affectionate  note  from  Mrs.  Cini- 
zelli,  enclosing  four  months'  salary.  Her 
husband,  she  told  her,  was  still  too  angry  to  see  her,  but 
would  no  longer  refuse  her  her  due.  This  addition  to 
her  small  fortune  was  of  no  slight  importance  to  Eosa, 
for  she  did  not  wish  to  touch  the  money  paid  for  Bruno 
until  she  reached  home.  The  price  of  the  horse  which 
she  had  fostered  so  tenderly  and  surrendered  so  regret- 
fully had  been  sent  to  her  in  gold — a  round  sum  of 
twenty- five  thousand  francs — and  she  would  try  to  carry 
the  whole  of  this  to  Italy.  She  little  dreamed  to  whom, 
by  virtue  of  this  purchase,  her  darling  Bruno  belonged. 
And  now  she  was  to  bid  farewell  to  her  former  life. 
"With  hands  clasped  over  her  knees,  she  sat  and  thought 
over  all  that  had  befallen  her  from  her  childhood's  days; 
of  her  life  in  that  home  which  had  been  so  little  home- 
like;  of  her  later  career;  of  her  strange  relations  with 
Mary  Marlboro  and  the  Elliots,  an  1  of  Mr.  Livingstone — 
the  blood  rushed  to  her  brow  as  she  recalled  the  first 
time  those  large,  dark  eyes  had  rested  on  her  face  ;  she 
had  felt  at  that  moment  as  if  an  electric  cord  bound  her 
to  him,  who  had  been  till  then  a  stranger ;  something 
seemed  to  whisper,  "  You  and  I  are  linked  by  no  com- 


172  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

mon  tie."  And  yet  he  had  never  spoken  one  flattering 
word,  had  never  called  her  beautiful,  but  had  merely 
looked  his  pity  for  her  loneliness. 

She  was  glad,  she  told  herself,  that  he  had  not  come 
again  to  see  her.  He  had  so  much,  no  doubt,  to  engage 
his  attention — so  many  real  ladies  to  visit — that  he  had 
naturally  forgotten  her.  In  her  heart,  however,  she 
did  not  believe  this.  She  knew  that  they  were  divided 
by  birth  and  position,  and  that  it  was  best  they  should 
meet  no  more;  but  she  would  have  been  so  light-hearted, 
she  thought,  if  she  could  have  seen  him  once  again — 
just  to  look  into  his  eyes  and  say,  "Thank  you  for  all 
you  have  said  and  done!"  But  he  did  not  come.  Ro^a 
would  not  leave  the  house  once  in  those  last  two  days. 
Every  time  the  front  door  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  opened 
she  started,  and  her  heart  fluttered;  but  no! — no  one 
asked  for  her. 

Saturday  morning  had  come.  Rosa  was  awake  early. 
As  she  watched  the  sun's  rays  gild  her  windows,  she  re- 
membered that  when  he  set  that  evening  she  would  be 
rocked  to  sleep  by  the  waves.  Yes,  the  hour  was  fast 
approaching  when  her  life  in  New  York  and  all  its 
memories  would  sink  into  the  dreamy  past. 

The  express  agent,  who  was  to  convey  her  trunk  to 
the  boat,  appeared  betimes.  Rosa  put  on  her  bonnet, 
took  in  her  hand  her  little  bag,  gave  a  last  Iqok  at  her 
little  room,  and  went  down  stairs. 

"  G ood-by,  Mary !  "  she  said  to  the  Irish  servant-maid, 
slipping  some  money  into  her  hand. 

"Good-by,  miss!  and  sure  it's  meself  is  the  grateful 
woman  for  your  ginerosity !  Good  luck  to  ye ! " 

This  was  the  only  farewell  she  had  to  make,  and  she 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  173 

felt  a  choking  sensation  in  her  throat  as  she  remembered 
that  no  one  else  in  that  great  city  cared  when  or  where 
she  went.  She  walked  forth  quietly,  glanced  with  tear- 
ful eyes  up  and  down  the  familiar  streets,  hailed  an 
omnibus,  and  presently  the  din  of  Broadway  blended 
with  sad  reflections  in  her  brain.  She  pulled  the  string 
at  Barclay  street,  and  was  about  to  leave  the  stage,  when 
the  driver  shouted  through  the  window  that  she  had 
forgotten  to  pay  her  fare.  Rosa  smiled  and  handed  up 
the  money,  which  she  had  been  holding  unconsciously 
in  her  hand,  got  out  and  soon  reached  the  pier  from 
which  the  French  steamer  was  to  sail. 

"  Baggage,  miss  ?  "  shouted  a  stevedore. 

"  Take  care  of  that  rope,"  cried  another. 

" Got  any  baggage ?  Where's  your  ticket?"  said  one 
of  the  porters.  "  That's  all  right;  forward,  follow  that 
'ere  gentleman ! " 

Rosa  looked  earnestly  for  the  person  who  should 
answer  this  description,  and  finding  none,  followed  a 
man  who  was  hoisting  her  trunk  upon  his  shoulders, 
and  was  assisted  by  a  uniformed  official  to  cross  the 
plank. 

"  First  class  ?  "  he  asked. 

"No,''  said  Rosa,  timidly,  "second  class  !  " 

A  steward  came  forward:  "Step  this  way,  miss! 
\yiiat  is  your  number?" 

"  One  hundred  and  one !" 

"  Follow  me,  miss !  Trunks  to  go  in  the  hold,  I  sup- 
pose ! " 

"  Yes,  the  large  one,  but  my  small  trunk  can  be  put 
inder  my  berth." 

She  was  shown  into  a  little  inside  state-room.    It  had 


174  THE    ITALIAN  GIRL. 

no  window;  what  air  entered  it  was  admitted  through 
the  door,  which  opened  into  a  dark  passage.  How  deso- 
late it  looked !  Rosa  shuddered  as  she  glanced  at  the 
bed,  which,  with  its  white  spread  glimmering  faintly  in 
the  dim  light,  resembled  a  coffin,  she  thought,  wrapped 
in  a  winding-sheet  She  placed  her  bag  at  the  foot  of 
the  berth,  and  had  her  small  trnnk  put  under  it;  then, 
because  the  close  air  between  decks  half  stifled  her,  she 
hurried  up  the  companion-way. 

On  deck  every  one  was  hustling  one  another;  there 
was  tugging  of  ropes,  wheeling  of  luggage,  sailors  shout- 
ing, people  scrambling  on  and  off.  There  were  gay, 
young  girls,  beautifully  dressed,  each  of  them  sur- 
rounded by  a  group  of  friends.  None  but  Rosa  stood 
entirely  alone.  She  glanced  at  her  watch  — twelve  al- 
ready !  and  at  one  they  were  to  start.  And  now,  as  the 
hour  drew  ou,  the  leave-takings  grew  warmer  and  ten- 
derer. One  young  girl  leaned  her  head  on  the  shoulder 
of  an  elderly  gentleman,  apparently  her  father,  and 
sobbed  passionately.  Others  were  chattering  at  the  tops 
of  their  lungs,  as  if  they  meant  to  impress  ineffaceably 
their  last  injunctions. 

The  only  one  among  them  all  to  whom  Rosa's  heart 
went  forth,  was  the  poor  weeping  girl.  Rosu  asked  her- 
self if,  by-and-by,  she  might  not  be  of  some  comfort  to 
her;  but  she  remembered,  with  a  sigh,  the  line  drawn 
across  the  deck,  which  would  separate  them,  no  doubt, 
after  the  vessel  got  to  sea;  for  she  as  a  second-class 
passenger,  was  not  to  cross  that  line. 

Turning  away  from  the  movement  and  uproar,  she 
leaned  over  the  bulwarks,  and  watched  the  green  water 
eddy  and  gurgle  against  the  ship's  side.  Her  face  was 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  175 

bent  down,  and  her  mind  dwelling  mournfully  on  the 
slender  plank  which  alone  connected  her  with  America, 
when  suddenly  some  one  touched  her  arm.  It  was  the 
faintest,  most  delicate  touch  in  the  world,  but  it  startled 
her,  and  brought  the  color  to  her  cheek.  Her  face  lighted 
with  a  happy  smile  when  she  saw  Mr.  Livingstone  stand- 
ing by  her  side.  Instinctively  she  put  out  her  hand,  and 
her  breath  came  fast  as  she  said : 

"  I  was  feeling  so  lonely,  so  sad  !  Every  one  else  seemed 
to  have  so  many  friends  to  wish  them  God  speed,  and  I 
had  none.  How  good  it  was,  how  kind,  how  like  your- 
self to  come  and  see  me  off !  For  my  part,  I  can  never 
say  that  the  Americans  are  cold.  They  have  been  any- 
thing but  that  to  me — at  least,  some  of  them.  Bnt  how 
did  you  remember  the  day  ?  I  supposed,  of  course,  you 
had  forgotten  it  utterly,  and  that  I  should  never  see  you 
again  !"  She  was  pouring  forth  her  whole  heart  in  one 
breath — she  was  so  glad  to  see  a  familiar  face,  so  glad  to 
be  rescued  from  her  loneliness. 

Hi  smi'ed  gravely  as  she  l«^ked  up  into  his  face.  He 
had  some  tea-roses  in  his  hand. 

"I  brought  these  for  you — will  you  have  them  ?"  he 
said.  "  They  will  keep  their  scent  fresh  for  a  day  or  two, 
and  your  friends,  I  hope,  fresh  in  your  memory  as  well! 
I  must  confess  my  birth  in  frigid  America,  but  how 
could  you  dream  I  should  forget  your  sailing-day  ?  I 
went  first  to  your  lodgings,  and,  finding  you  had  just 
gone,  started  for  the  ship,  but  the  coachman  drove  me 
to  the  wrong  pier.  I  never  so  berated  a  poor  wretch  in 
my  life,  and  at  last  sprang  on  the  box  and  saized  the  reins 
myself.  I  would  never  have  forgiven  him  or  myself 
either  if  we  had  arrived  too  late ! " 


176  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"  Oh  1 "  cried  Eosa,  clapping  her  hands,  "I  a^m  so  de- 
lighted you  came !  Do  not  leave  me,  Mr.  Livingstone, 
before  the  whistle  sounds  I  Do  you  think  you  will  ever 
come  to  Europe  ?  " 

"Ever  is  a  long  time  I" 

"  Not  so  long  as  never  1 "  rejoined  Eosa,  sadly. 

"  What  is  your  destination  when  you  come  to  land?" 

"  Genoa  1 " 

"  Yes,  but  that  is  far,  very  far,  from  Havre !  Have 
you  no  fear  of  traveling  alone  ?  " 

"  It  is  certainly  not  agreeable ;  but  what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  know  of  one  who  would  gladly  act  as  your  courier 
— I  mean  the  faithful  George,  who,  by  the  way,  has  got 
on  admirably  in  my  office." 

"  I  wish  I  could  express,  Mr.  Livingstone,  half  the 
gratitude  I  feel  for  your  great  kindness  to  him  1 " 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  am  really  indebted  to  you  for  an 
honest  and  efficient  servant." 

"If  you  come  to  Europe,  you  will  bring  him,  will  you 
not?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  shall !  He  has  become  my  servant — my 
Sancho  Panza — my  shadow!  He  would  have  been  here 
to-day,  but  I  purposely  concealed  from  the  poor  fellow 
the  date  of  your  departure.  I  knew  the  knowledge 
would  leave  him  half  heart-broken." 

"Tell  him,"  said  Bosa,  "that  I  did  not  forget  him  in 
these  last  few  moments  1" 

"Have  you  brought  anything  to  read?  How  could 
I  be  so  careless  as  to  overlook  books  ?  " 

"  I  have  all  I  want — my  Shakspeare ! " 

"You  will  find  written  there,"  he  said,  looking  down 
into  the  young  girl's  eyes, 


ITALIAN  GIRL.  177 

'  Parting  is  such  sweet  sorrow, 
That  I  shall  say — good-night,  till  it  be  morrow.' 

What  is  that  noise?" 

"  They  are  blowing  off  steam ;  but  do  not  leave  me 
yet ! "  she  said,  imploringly. 

"  I  promise  not  to  leave  you  until  the  plank  is  actually 
lifted — will  that  do?  Take  my  arm;  let  me  find  you  a 
pleasant  standing  place,  where,  if  you  choose,  you  can 
wave  me  a  last  adieu  !  Look,  I  will  be  on  that  bulkhead 
yonder.  Do  you  see  it  ?  " 

"  Oh.  that  is  the  whistle !"  cried  Rosa,  trembling,  and 
clinging  to  his  arm.  "  I  should  like  to  send  my  love  to 
Miss  Marlboro,  if  she  would  not  think  me  too  bold. 
Might  1  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  she  will  be  glad  to  receive  so  sweet  a  fare- 
well!" 

"  See,"  said  Rosa,  "what  a  rush,  they  are  making  for 
the  plank !  They  will  part  us  soon !  The  ocean  is  a 
fearfnl  divider ! " 

"Yes,"  he  answered;  "after  Death,  the  worst!  A 
ruthless  enemy,  is  he  not,  to  fling  himself  between  two 
friends,  and  cut  their  lives  asunder  ?" 

"The  whistle  again!"  cried  Rosa;  "how  the  sound 
goes  through  one !  Oh,  they  are  hurrying  off ! " 

"All  ashore,  all  ashore!"  rang  through  the  vessel. 
The  steam  roared  louder  than  ever,  and  the  shrieks  of 
mate  and  boatswain  rose  high  above  the  murmured 
"God  bless  you  "  and  "Farewell,"  which  lingered  on  the 
lips  of  friends.  And  now  everybody  had  gone,  ^et  Mr. 
Livingstone  remained  by  Rosa's  side,  and  her  arm  was 
still  in  his. 

"  Give  me  a  rose  I "  he  said. 
8* 


178  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

She  loosened  one  from  her  bouquet  and  gave  it  to 
him,  without  speaking.  He  looked  at  her  intently; 
she  was  very  pale,  and  would  not  lift  her  eyes  to  meet 
his  own. 

All  at  once  the  roar  of  the  steam-pipes  ceased.  "I 
must  go  ! "  he  said.  He  took  her  hand ;  she  was  still  silent, 
but  a  tear  rolled  down  her  cheek.  He  stooped  quickly  and 
kissed  it  away — he  was  gone ! 

liosa  could  not  stir  ;  presently  she  heard  shouts  of 
"  Man  still  on  board ! "  Her  heart  gave  a  great  bound. 
"  Look  out !  look  out  1 "  "  He's  safe ! "  cried  another ; 
"he  has  jumped  ashore!"  She  hastened  to  the  point 
which  he  had  suggested,  and,  leaning  over  the  rail, 
looked  eagerly  toward  the  pier.  Yes,  some  one  was 
climbing  the  bulkhead ;  it  was  he,  and  he  was  waving 
his  handkerchief.  Her  head  eank  down  on  her  hands, 
and  the  poor  girl  burst  into  tears.  There  was  theii 
some  one,  after  all,  who  cared  for  llosa.  But  every  second 
was  precious.  She  threw  back  her  head,  brushed  away 
her  tears,  and  answered  his  farewell.  Presently  a  gun 
was  fired,  and  in  another  moment  a  dense  volume  of 
smoke  had  rolled  between  them.  When  it  cleared  away, 
she  could  distinguish  nothing.  She  was  alone,  with  the 
memory  of  a  kiss. 

Mr.  Livingstone  waited  until  the  hull  of  the  ship  had 
disappeared,  and  then  drove  to  his  office.  All  his  sur- 
roundings seemed  suddenly  divested  of  any  interest 
or  charm.  The  picture  of  that  fair  young  girl,  as  he 
had  left  her  standing  there  on  the  ship's  deck,  still  lived 
before  his  eyes.  The  face,  so  fraught  with  earnestnosd 
and  feeling,  was  again  upturned  to  his;  he  felt  the 
touch  of  her  soft  arm,  and  now  her  eyes  seemed  to  fly 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  It9 

his  glance  and  fasten  on  the  ground,  while  her  long 
lashes  swept  her  pale  cheek. 

But  the  memory  of  that  kiss  tormented  him;  he  tried 
in  vain  to  shake  it  off.  How  could  he  so  forget  himself  ? 
But  she  had  seemed  so  much  to  need  sympathy — and 
had  looked  so  fair  1  It  was  a  swift,  mad  impulse,  for 
which  he  blamed  himself  bitterly  now.  Yes,  he  had 
wronged  her — insulted  her.  He  had  done  just  that 
which  he  had  scorned  in  another,  taken  advantage  of 
her  helpless  position.  If  the  girl  cared  for  him,  he  had 
been  ungenerous;  if  not,  he  had  been  brutal. 

But  Livingstone  was  a  man,  and,  in  the  inextricable 
blending  of  human  principles  and  passions,  other 
feelings  than  remorse,  perhaps,  were  at  times  up- 
permost in  his  mind.  But  for  this  one  sweet  memory 
Eosa  would  soon  have  seemed  to  him  like  a  beautiful 
dream,  which  once,  indeed,  had  shone  on  him,  but  now 
had  vanished  forever  from  his  sight.  That  single  kiss, 
by  a  magic  of  its  own,  brought  her  back  to  his  fancy  in 
all  the  charms  and  realities  of  life.  Blame  himself  as 
he  might  for  a  thoughtless  act,  he  could  not  altogether 
wish  it  undone. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

^  the  day  Rosa  sailed  Cecilia's  jealousy  had 
been  wrought  almost  to  a  pitch  of  agony.  Had 
Henry  gone  to  see  her  off?  That  question  cut 
into  her  heart.  But  it  was  a  question  she 
dared  not  put  to  him  when,  in  the  evening,  he  came 
home.  She  studied  his  face,  but  it  was  cold  and  hard, 
and  quite  inscrutable.  She  knew  that  if  he  had  gone  he 
would  have  argued  himself  by  this  time  into  the  belief 
that  he  had  done  well,  and  from  that  belief  neither  Hea- 
ven nor  earth  would  have  power  to  shake  him;  and  if 
he  had  not  gone,  he  would  think  it  beneath  him  to  give 
her  the  satisfaction  of  learning  it. 

But  Rosa  had  sailed;  the  ocean  would  soon  roll  be- 
tween them;  surely  she  need  not  be  so  jealous  of 
her  now.  Alas!  she  would  fain  have  had  all  mortal 
women,  saving  Cecilia  Elliot,  so  ugly  and  so  awkward 
that  Henry  could  not,  even  in  a  spirit  of  perversity,  see 
in  them  anything  to  admire. 

And  yet,  in  spite  of  her  hostility  to  one  whom  she 
imagined  a  rival,  Cecilia's  gentler  nature  would  assert 
itself  at  times,  for  there  had  been  sonvthing  in  Rosa's 
ippearance  and  circumstances  which  had  touched  her 
ieart.  Although  she  had  treated  her  haughtily,  and' 
apokt'ii  of  her  har-hly,  she  could  not  but  acknowledge  to 
iier  own  conscience  that  the  spectacle  of  that  friendless 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  181 

creature,  steadfast  and  uncomplaining  in  the  perform- 
ance of  an  irksome  and  hateful  task,  might  read  herself 
a  wholesome  lesson. 

Cecilia  was  too  young  when  she  married  Henry  to 
know  anything  of  the  annoyances,  perplexities  and 
difficulties  which  beset  the  path  of  life,  no  matter  on 
what  fortunate  table-land  of  the  social  world  that  path 
may  lie. 

She  had  pictured  to  herself  existence  as  a  long  day 
of  unclouded  sunshine.  Henry  loved  her — that  was 
enough  !  "What  trouble,  what  sorrow  could  come  to  her 
while  he  was  by  her  side  ?  And  when  death  came,  why 
they  would  die  together  in  one  another's  arms,  long 
before  youth  and  joy  should  have  succumbed  to  care 
and  age. 

Cecilia  had  yet  to  learn  that  the  life  of  the  happiest 
was,  at  best,  a  campaign — avoiding  battles,  perhaps,  but 
compelling  vigilance  and  activity;  that  Love's  golden 
arrows,  which  glitter  so  bravely  in  the  flush  and  heyday 
of  courtship,  soon  grow  tarnished  and  dull  without  the 
friction  of  daily  solicitude,  and  an  intelligent  study  to 
please;  that  her  education  in  the  largest  sense — the 
discipline  of  mind  and  heart — was  to  begin  in  that 
very  hour  when  she  had  fancied  it  concluded;  that 
growth  and  progress,  born  of  labor,  were  the  true  ends 
of  woman's,  not  less  than  of  man's  life,  and  that  these 
alone  could  insure  one  against  bitterness  and  weariness 
of  soul ;  for  what  was  this  ennui  which  her  husband 
had  began  to  evince  in  her  society,  which  she  sometimes 
experienced  herself,  but  the  creeping  in  of  a  vacuity  and 
decay  where  fullness  and  vitality  should  have  been. 

These  -things  she  had  yet  to  learn ;  but  a  glimmering 


182  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

of  them  had  begun  to  dawn  on  her  wakeful,  self-ques- 
tioning heart.  Heaven,  it  seemed,  would  never  send  her 
the  gift  she  had  longed  and  prayed  for,  and  what,  then, 
was  she  to  do  ?  How  were  the  long  days  to  be  spent  ? 
That  was  the  problem  which  haunted  her  day  and  night, 
and  which,  it  was  plain,  must  be  resolved  somehow. 

The  scheme  of  life  she  had  followed  hitherto  must 
be  abandoned.  To  sit  idle  for  hours  and  watch  for 
Henry's  coming;  to* grow  with  every  day  more  utterly 
dependent  on  his  looks  and  moods;  to  feel  perfectly 
wretc  ed  unless  he  were  by  her  side — this  would  be  not 
merely  suicidal,  but  far  worse,  destructive  of  the  very 
affection  she  coveted.  She  recognized  that  her  demon- 
strative fondness,  her  exaggerated  sensibility,  often 
irritated  and  repelled  her  husband;  he  was  fatigued 
in  mind  and  body  when  he  came  up  town  from  business, 
and  naturally,  until  he  obtained  refreshment  and  repose, 
his  mood  was  rather  querulous  than  appreciative. 

She  knew  all  this,  yet  she  found  it  hard  to  bear.  Why, 
after  all,  should  he  betray  his  fatigue  so  willingly,  and 
infect  others  with  his  peevish  humors?  Was  this  his 
stoicism,  his  manly  fortitude  ?  Why  did  he  not  pay 
court  to  her — kneel  at  her  feet,  and  tell  her  how  perfect 
she  was,  as  he  used  in  the  old  days?  She  had  not 
changed,  she  was  sure.  And  what  source  of  fatigue  had 
he  which  had  not  existed  then?  He  had  never  talked 
of  being  tired,  or  looked  it  either,  in  their  betrothal 
times.  Perhaps  he  rallied  more  lightly  then.  But  no,  it 
was  not  fatigue;  other  men  of  his  age  were  gay  and 
act-ive  enough.  They  were  glad  enough  to  talk  to  her 
after  toil  as  wearing  as  IL-nry's.  Why  had  it  not  fallen 
to  her  lot  to  marry  a  man  of  equable  temper,  who 


THE    ITALIAN   GIRL.  183 

would  be  always  the  same — always  affectionate  and  at- 
tentive? But,  unluckily  for  Cecilia,  although  since  her 
marriage  she  had  come  in  close  contact  with  all  of 
Henry's  faults,  she  was  as  much  in  love  with  him  as 
ever. 

Mary  was,  indeed,  Cecilia's  sister,  but  she  had  a  natural 
love  of  justice,  and  had  invariably  taken  Henry's  side 
when  she  thought  him  in  the  right;  but  there  had  been 
times — for  example,  the  evening  Avhen  she  overheard  his 
conversation  with  Mrs.  Brandon — when  she  deemed  him 
much  to  blame,  and  spoke  her  mind  quite  plainty. 
Henry's  speech  concerning  marriage  had,  of  course,  been 
repeated  by  Mrs.  Brandon,  and,  after  being  extensively 
quoted  as  one  of  that  clever,  cynical  Mr.  Elliot's  remarks, 
had  come  to  poor  Cecilia's  ears. 

"It  was  a  heartless  deed,"  she  had  told  her  husband, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes,  "to  satirize  me  in  public,  and  put 
your  notion  of  marriage  into  words  that  proclaimed  to 
the  world  how  thoroughly  you  detest  it." 

"I  presume  one  may  amuse  himself  in  conversation." 

"By  no  means,  Henry!  You  owe  it  to  the  woman 
you  have  made  your  wife  not  to  speak  slightly  of  the  re- 
lation you  hold  to  her — not  to  throw  out  before  in- 
different people  innuendoes  against  her  who  stands 
nearest  you ! " 

"A  little  more  than  kin,  and  less  than  kind,  perhaps!" 
said  Henry,  with  an  accent  of  merriment,  whic  i  Cecilia 
never  would  recognize  nor  consent  to  share. 

"You  mean,  I  suppose,  that  I  am  fretful;  I  may 
be — I  have  reason  to  be  so ! " 

"  Well,  my  dear,  it  is  fortunate  that  reason  should  once 
at  least  be  made  your  guide ! " 


184  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"If,"  said  Cecilia,  reddening,  "if  I  did  on  a  certain 
occasion  lose  ray  reason  utterly,  there  is  no  insurmount- 
able obstacle  to  my  regaining  it." 

"  You  refer,  I  presume,  my  dear,  to  your  falling  in  love 
with  me  ?  " 

"You  may  well  say  'fell  in  love,'"  cried  Cecilia,  bit- 
terly. 

H»jnry  laughed — "  What  a  fall  was  there,  my  coun- 
try-woman. You  civilly  hint  what  the  play  puts  in 
good  set  .terms,  that,  on  that  mournful  occasion,  'you  and 
I,  and  all  of  us,  fell  down  !'" 

"Now,  Henry  you  shall  not  tease  Cecilia  ! "  said  Mary, 
coming  into  the  room,  and  to  the  rescue,  at  that  mo- 
ment 

"Was  it  right?"  Mrs.  Elliot  appealed  to  her  sister; 
"was  it  proper  of  Henry  to  declaim  against  marriage 
behind  my  back?" 

"  I  must  leave  you,"  said  Henry,  "  lest  you  repeat  the 
offense  before  my  face  !"  and  he  left  the  room. 

"There,  he  is  gone,"  exclaimed  Cecilia,  "he  is  too 
cruel!" 

"You  should  never,  dear  Cecilia,  appeal  to  a  third 
person  in  your  husband's  presence;  a  man  will  not  sub- 
mit to  that.  You  ought  to  settle  your  quarrels  tcte-a- 
tete  I " 

"Your  husband,"  returned  Mrs.  Elliot,  irritated, 
"will  have  a  perfect  wife  1  Knowing  so  well  before- 
hand all  a  man's  tastes  and  foibles,  you  will  be  sure  not 
t<>  give  offense." 

"  I  sh  ill  never  have  a  husband,"  said  Mary,  coloring. 
"  I  am  meant  for  an  old  maid." 

"But  frankly,  Mary,  do  you  suppose  wives  like  their 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  185 

husbands  to  sneer  at  marriage  when  they  are  not  by  to 
defend  their  own  cause  ?  " 

Of  course  Mary  understood  the  allusion,  and,  indeed, 
had  expected  that  Henry's  unfortunate  speech  would  be 
repeated  one  day  to  his  wife.  She  turned  away  her  head, 
for  in  her  heart  she  sided  with  her  sister;  but  Mary  was 
a  prudent  counselor,  and,  after  a  moment's  reflection, 
said, 

"Henry  must  hare  been  exasperated  at  the  time  by 
your  refusal  to  enter  the  drawing-room,  the  night  of  my 
party,  and  besides  he  flattered  himself,  no  doubt,  that  he 
was  saying  something  very  pungent  and  clever.  M^n 
can  never  resist  temptations  of  that  kL.d;  but  I  am  sure 
he  did  not  mean  a  word  of  it." 

"  The  world  thinks  he  did ! " 

"  Why  should  you  care  for  that  ?  Can  the  world's 
opinion  harm  you  ?  No  injury  is  lasting  but  that  we  do 
ourselves  through  our  own  bad  actions." 

"  I  do  not  see  that  1  Henry  can  hurt  me,  and 
does  so ! " 

"  Listen  to  me,  Cecilia.  You  must  find  something  to 
do,  otherwise  your  feelings  will  prey  on  you  until  you  be- 
come perfectly  morbid !  Don't  you  remember  Auerbach's 
'On  the  Heights'?  How,  when  Irma  was  quite  alone, 
bereft  of  hope,  love,  self-respect,  of  all  earthly  happiness, 
she  traced  these  words  in  her  diary :  '  Why  is  it  that  no 
religion  has  enjoined,  before  all  others,  the  command- 
ment, '  Thou  shalt  work '  ?  What  a  wholesome  lesson  ;  ia 
it  not?  Whenever  it  recurs  to  me,  it  sends  me  forthwith 
to  my  easel,  and,  if  I  have  brains  enough,  may,  make  an 
artist  of  me  one  day!  Why,  do  you  know,  dear,  if  it 
were  not  for  my  art  (yet  think  what  a  tyro  I  am  in  it!) 


186  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

there  are  times  when  I  feel  wretched  enough  to  fling 
myself  out  of  that  window  !  " 

"  You !"  said  Cecilia,  "  what  nonsense  !  " 

"  Yes,  I !  and  believe  me,  dear  sister,  if  you  could  de- 
cipher the  heart,  you  would  behold  unclouded  happiness 
nowhere  in  this  world  !  " 

"  Then,"  cried  Cecilia,  "  everything  is  a  lie  ! — sun- 
shine, the  birds,  the  childhood,  maidenhood,  laughter 
and  love!  What  are  we  created  for,  if  we  are  never  to 
be  happy  ?  " 

"  Happiness  implies  contentment.  We  are  not  meant 
to  rest  contented  with  ourselves,  but  to  gaze  and  climb 
upward — to  live,  think  and  feel  on  higher  and  higher 
planes.  They  who  are  wiser  than  we  have  reckoned  it  a 
great  privilege  to  be  able  even  to  suffer  deeply!  " 

"  Oh,  Mary !  how  can  you  find  comfort  in  such  words  ? 
You  can  never  have  known  the  heart-ache,  or  you  could 
not  talk  so  philosophically  !" 

"Perhaps  not,"  said  Mary,  while  a  strange  smile  wan- 
dered over  her  lips.  "Perhaps  not!  It  is  true,  and 
trite  enough,  that  every  heart  knoweth  its  own  bitter- 
ness. Do  you  remember,  dear,  when  we  read  Alfieri  to- 
gether, where  he  says  that  they  are  few,  very  f«-w,  in  tins 
world  who  are  privileged  to  know  what  love  really  is — 
love  in  the  completest  sense,  the  genuine  grand  passion  ? 
It  was  mere  egotism,  perhaps,  that  made  him  fancy  him- 
self one  of  the  elect;  but  I  do  believe  the  thought  was 
just — that  there  are  few  an-1  rare  spirits  who  will  consent 
to  love  greatly,  utterly.  As  this  worM  g  >es,  such  abne- 
gation of  s  If  would  prove  not  a  biasing  but  a  d  <>MI. 
Love  of  that  sort  is  a  religion — a  religion  whose  apostles 
uro  also  its  martyrs!" 


THE    ITALIAN   GIRL.  187 

"  What  a  fearful  doctrine,  Mary !  I  would  rather  dis- 
pense with  love  altogether  than  be  doomed  to  ceaseless 
suffering ! " 

"  Now,  is  that  true  ?  Would  you  give  up  your  love 
for  Henry,  much  as  you  are  tortured  by  it  ?  " 

"Indeed  I  would;  but,  alas!  I  cannot." 

"You  do  not  know  yourself  when  you  say  this;  yon 
do  not  foresee  the  awful  loneliness  and  vacuity  that 
would  prevail  where  love  had  been.  In  that  hour  of 
emptiness  and  despair  you  would  cry,  '  Give  me  back 
my  love,  with  all  its  pains  and  its  terrors,  with  its  sleep- 
less anxiety  and  harrowing  doubts!  Give  back  to  me 
that  child  of  my  heart,  recusant,  irresponsive,  it  is  true, 
to  my  wishes  and  yearnings,  but  still  the  idol  of  an  un- 
wavering devotion,  the  torch  of  perpetual  desire — my 
hero  and  my  darling!  the  staff  and  star  of  my  life!  my 
anchor  and  my  beacon  I"' 

"I  wo'ild  say,  rather,  'Welcome,  peace!  welcome, 
rest  and  tranquility !  welcome,  kindly  oblivion !" 

"  You  are  not  candid,  Cecilia !  But  I  say  again,  find 
something  to  do.  I  shall  never  be  satisfied  until  I  see 
you  seriously  engaged  in  some  active,  genuine  work,  I 
care  not  wkat,  so  long  as  it  is  something  you  are  fitted  to 
do  well." 

"I  cannot  make  myself  a  painter  or  a  sculptor;  I  have 
no  taste  for  mnsic,  no  skill  in  writing.  I  might  make 
wax  flowers,  perhaps — what  else  ?  Of  course  there  are 
other  trades  and  callings  which  women  are  at  liberty  to 
follow  ;  but  I  have  been  reared  in  a  certain  way  ;  I  can- 
not become  a  shop-woman,  or  go  out  to  service,  or  keep 
a  boarding-house,  can  I  ?  " 

"  No,  but  you  might  teach  children  to  read  and  write ; 


188  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

do  you  remember  what  Rosa  Thornton  told  us  of  the 
little  orphan  school?  Why  not  offer  to  teach  there  for 
an  hour  or  two  in  the  day?  Nothing  you  could  do 
would  be  more  useful,  and  nothing  would  please  Henry 
more." 

Cecilia's  face  brightened.  "Yes,  I  might,  indeed,  do 
that.  I  hav*  thought  of  it  a  hundred  times  since  she 
went  away,  but  wanted  courage  to  undertake  it.  But 
I  will  go  to-morrow  morning.  I  feel  happier  already  at 
the  thought."  ..- 

The  knowledge  that  she  was  about  to  do  something 
for  others — to  emerge  from  her  self-centred,  self-tortur- 
ing existence,  gave  a  new  light  to  Cecilia's  face,  and 
Henry's  eyes  dwelt  on  it  that  evening  with  a  look  she 
had  not  s°en  in  them  for  many  a  day. 

The  next  morning  she  awoke  much  excited  at  the 
prospect  of  her  new  life.  She  waited  till  Henry  had 
left  the  house,  then  changed  her  gown,  and  prepared  for 
her  expedition.  She  had  bound  Mary  not  to  say  a  word 
of  her  intention  to  Mr.  Elliot,  for  her  husband  was 
naturally  a  skeptic,  and,  therefore,  she  meant  to  keep 
silence  until  she  was  sure  of  her  resolution,  and  sure  of 
effecting  some  positive  results;  then  she  would  prove  to 
him  that  she  was  no  longer  the  idle  thing  he  imagined 
her;  that  she,  too,  was  doing  her  part  in  the  world's 
labor  ;  that  she  deserved,  at  least,  a  man's  ivspect  1 

Mary  walked  with  her  as  far  as  the  school,  but  there  she 
left  her.  After  listening  in  vain  for  the  studious  hum 
which  she  had  always  associated  with  such  places,  Cecilia 
pushed  open  the  door,  and  beheld  some  fifty  pale-faced 
children  ranged  on  long,  hard  wooden  benches.  They 
all  seemed  to  be  natives  of  Southern  Europe,  having  dark 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  189 

hair  and  large,  lustrous  eyes,  which  were  at  this  moment 
fast- ned  on  Mrs.  Elliot  with  lively  interest.  There  were 
two  teachers  present — an  emaciated  young  man  of  mel- 
ancholy aspect,  and  a  matter-of-fact  looking  girl,  who 
seemed  to  be  the  executive  officer,  as  she  flourished  a 
ferrule  in  her  hand.  The  sight  of  those  poor  children, 
so  languid,  worn  and  hungry-eyed,  without  a  trace  of 
blithesomeuess  or  mirth  in  look  or  gesture,  went  to 
Cecilia's  heart.  Yes,  here  was  work  to  do.  She  saw  it 
now,  and  felt  that  Rosa  had  been  the  instrument  of  a  kind 
Providence  when  she  had  put  it  into  her  head  to  come. 

"  Art  thou  an  Italian  ?  "  she  said  in  his  native  tongue  to 
a  slender  boy,  who  was  gazing  at  her  with  rapt  wonder. 
The  child's  face  lighted  all  over — "Yes,  lady!  and  you?" 

"I  am  not  an  Italian,"  she  continued,  "but  I  can 
speak  your  language,  and  I  have  come  here  to  teach  you. 
Do  you  wish  me  to  do  so  ?  " 

"  Do  you  love  little  boys?  "  and  the  child  kept  his  eyes 
fastened  on  her  face. 

The  boy's  words  touched  her.  This  longing  for  affec- 
tion, which,  in  her  selfish  blindness  and  folly,  she  had 
half  believed  peculiar  to  herself,  seemed  to  be  the  first 
and  uppermost  desire  of  every  human  heart. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  softly,  "  I  am  fond  of  little 
boys!"  Thereupon  a  thin,  small  hand  stole  into  hers, 
and  there  lay  until  it  was  quite  warm.  It  was  plea- 
sant to  her  to  feel  the  pressure  of  that  little  palm — timid 
suppliant  for  shelter  and  protection.  At  length  she  let 
it  fall,  and  going  up  to  the  principal  of  the  school,  for 
such  she  took  the  man  to  be,  told  him  that  she  had 
heard  from  a  young  Italian  lady  that  they  needed  as- 
sistance, and  that  she  had  come  to  proffer  it." 


190  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

The  man's  face  brightened  as  he  told  her  how  much 
obliged  he  was,  how  sadly  neglected  the  children  neces- 
sarily were,  and  how  sorely  they  needed  kind  words, 
wholesome  food  and  pure  air. 

Here  at  last  Cecilia  had  found  a  field  of  labor.  She 
drew  off  her  shawl,  and  began  her  task  by  examining 
the  children's  school  books  Then  she  walked  through 
the  room  and  conversed  at  length  with  each  of  the 
scholars.  Their  faces  lighted  as  she  approached  them, 
and  thpy  confided  readily  their  little  etories  to  her  wil- 
ling ears. 

"You  must  be  the  Madonna,  I  think!"  whispered  a 
fair-haired  child,  as  Mrs.  Elliot  bent  over  her  to  smooth 
her  curly  head. 

Cecilia's  heart  was  won  by  this  tender  speech,  and 
when,  by-and-by,  she  rose  to  put  on  her  shawl,  she  was 
astonished  to  find  how  many  hours  had  slipped  away. 

"I  do  not  want  the  signora  to  go,"  came  in  plaintive 
accents  from  the  little  boy  whose  cold  hand  she  had 
warmed  in  her  own. 

"I  will  come  back,  little  one,  to-morrow,  and  fetch 
you  some  dainties  and  some  pretty  books  !  " 

"But  you  must  promise,"  urged  the  boy.  And  Cecilia 
promised. 

When  Cecilia  went  home  that  afternoon  she  bore  a 
lighter  heart  than  she  had  known  for  many  a  day.  In 
active  sympathy  with  others  she  had  found  the  secret  of 
self-oblivion.  One  thought  absorbed  her — how  to  re- 
lieve the  melancholy  lot  of  those  poor  children,  and 
make  their  lives  permanently  happier.  She  revolved  a 
hundred  schemes  in  her  mind,  for  she  had  determined 
in  the  course  of  this  first  visit  to  take  the  whole  burden 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  191 

of  the  school  on  her  own  shoulders.  The  teachers  were 
not  precisely  incompetent,  but  they  were  ignorant  or 
careless  of  the  measures  requisite  to  secure  the  true  wel- 
fare of  their  scholars,  and  had  seemed  perfectly  willing 
to  submit  their  authority  to  her  better  judgment  and 
longer  purse. 

It  was  a  great  pleasure  to  Mary  to  mark  how  well  her 
plan  had  succeeded ;  to  see  her  sister  so  quiet,  so  thought- 
ful, yet  not  unhappy. 

The  next  morning  Cecilia  rose  betimes  and  began 
preparations  for  her  second  visit  to  her  new  proteges. 
No  so:>nfr  was  breakfast  over,  and  her  husband  gone, 
than  she  summoned  the  man-servant  to  her  aid.  She 
filled  a  hamper  with  buttered  rolls  and  sliced  beef,  not 
forgetting  to  add  all  the  children's  books  she  could  lay 
hold  of,  and  then,  attended  by  John,  set  forth  for  the 
school. 

Joy  fell  on  those  dull  little  hearts  when  her  pleasant 
face  appeared  in  the  doorway.  There  was  no  silence 
now,  but  a  unanimous  shout  of  "Teacher's  come!" 
"  The  pretty  lady's  come  again,  and  brought  us  some 
goodies  as  she  promised!"  And,  indeed,  a  pretty  wo- 
man, prettily  divssed,  she  came  to  those  starved,  weary 
hearts  like  flowers  to  the  sick,  or  soft  breezes  that 
breathe  of  summer,  of  fresh  dews  and  sweet  country 
scents.  They  stretched  forth  their  arms  to  her  eagerly, 
and  she  folded  them,  one  after  another,  in  her  embrace. 
After  each  had  eaten  a  sandwich,  Cecilia  had  gathered 
them  all  about  her,  and,  reading  a  chapter  from  an 
English  Bible,  repeated  and  explained  the  text  in  Italian 
until  they  seemed  to  comprehend  its  meaning.  Next 
she  taught  them  some  simple  songs  which  they  might 


192  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

sing  in  chorus,  and  so  the  time  fled  rapidly  away  until, 
long  before  she  expected  it,  the  hour  of  leave-taking 
arrived. 

"  You  look  tired,"  said  Henry  one  day,  when  she  came 
home  from  a  long  visit  to  her  school. 

"  Do  I  ?    I  have  been  often  tired  of  late." 

"  You  seem  to  me  a  good  deal  changed,  Cecilia!  You 
have  lost  the  sensitive  temper  you  used  to  have,  but  with 
it  much  of  your  old  mirthfulness  is  gone.  You  are  al- 
ways quiet  and  serious  now." 

"  Am  I  ?  Will  Henry,"  she  a«ked  herself,  "  never  un- 
derstand me  ?  " 

"Sometimes,  I  fancy,  there  are  lines  deepening  on 
this  dear  young  face — lines  that  ought  not  to  be  there  I " 

"I  am  growing  an  old  lady,  I  suppose,"  she  said, 
laughing. 

"  But  I  shall  love  this  dear  face,  young  or  old." 

"  When  you  are  in  the  mood,  you  mean !  At  other 
times  you  will  not  care  for  it" 

This  was  true  enough.  Henry  was  a  man  of  capri- 
cious disposition,  and  very  changeful  in  the  expression 
of  feeling;  but  Cecilia  need  not  have  said  so  at  this  mo- 
ment. No  sooner  had  the  words  passed  her  lips  than 
she  regretfr'd  them.  She  threw  her  arms  around  his 
neck. 

"  Do  you  really  love  my  face  ?  "  said  she. 

"  I  should  love  it  better  were  it  a  gayer  one !" 

A  cloud  came  over  it  now.     She  had  been  trying  so 
hard  to  do  what  might  seem  right  and  well  done  in  hi^ 
eyes,  and  this  was  the  result.     Her  soul  had  been  strug 
gling  toward  the  light,  lint  the  face  which  should  have 
mirrored  it  had  only  grown  dark  and  dull.     All    had 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  193 

been  vain,  she  thought ;  but  she  was  mistaken — all  was 
uot  in  vain.  Henry  had  perceived  the  struggle,  and, 
though  he  had  said  not  a  word,  had  paid  it  the  homage 
of  respect  and  sympathy.  He  was  not  one  of  those 
persons  who  proclaim  all  they  feel.  He  shrank  with  al- 
most morbid  aversion  from  anything  like  sentimentality. 

"You  should  not  criticise  a  face  while  the  owner  is 
present!"  she  said,  smiling  and  trying  to  control  her 
feelings.  "  I  will  tell  you  one  day  what  it  is  I  am  doing, 
and  you  will  not  chide  my  grave  face  then." 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  I  was  sure  something  was  in 
the  wind.  Tell  me,  is  it  real  work  ?  In  that  case  I 
should  love  you  denrly.  Tell  me ;  that's  an  angel ! "  But 
Cecilia  only  smiled,  and  answered,  "What  is  unknown 
is  most  prized." 

One  afternoon,  not  many  days  after  the  last  conversa- 
tion, Henry  had  come  home  earlier  than  usual  from  his 
business.  "  Where  is  Cecilia,  Mary  ?  "  he  asked  of  his 
sister-in-law.  "John  says  that  she  went  out  early  this 
morning,  and  has  not  since  returned.  I  feel  anxious 
about  her." 

"  I  do  uot  know  where  she  is." 

"Did  she  not  mention  where  she  was  going? 

"  She  did  not,  that  I  remember." 

"But  I  cannot  imagine  where  she  can  remain  all  day, 
and  withoutyourknowing  anything  of  her  whereabouts. 
I  cannot  help  being  a  good  deal  worried,  Mary ! " 

"I  thought  yon  held  worry  and  nervousness  mere 
woman's  folly !"  sa:<l  Mary,  smiling. 

"So  I  do  when  t  .  *y  are  causeless  or  exaggerated  ;  but 
here  is  something  1  cannot  account  for.     This  absence 
is  extraordinary :  it  never  happened  before." 
0 


194  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"Neither  can  poor  Cecilia  explain  your  non-appear- 
ance when  you  are  detained  away." 

"  The  case  is  very  different ;  a  man  knows  how  to  take 
care  of  himself." 

"So  he  thinks,  at  any  rate!  " 

"I  shall  go  out  to  look  for  her  ! "  cried  Henry,  snatch- 
ing up  his  hat.  "  Unluckily  I  do  not  know  where  to  look." 

"Don't  be  a  goose,  Henry!  Come  here  and  look  at 
my  picture ;  is  it  not  pretty  ?  " 

Henry  sat  down,  presently  got  up  again,  glanced  at 
Mary's  picture,  said  abstractedly  that  it  was  very  pretty, 
strolled  to  the  window,  then  looked  at  his  watch.  Mary 
enjoyed  his  anxiety,  for  she  had  seen  her  sister  exhibit 
the  same  nervousness.  She  was  mischievous  enough  to 
hope  that  Cecilia  might  not  return  too  soon,  and  glanced 
now  and  then  at  the  clock.  Half  an  hour  had  already 
passed. 

"  I  can  bear  it  no  longer,"  he  said,  finally ;  "  I  shall  go 
out  to  look  for  her;  her  absence  is  inexplicable !  " 

"  Wait  a  moment  and  I  will  go  with  you,"  said  Mary; 
"  I  am  beginning  to  feel  anxious,  too  ! "  She  put  on  her 
bonnet,  and  they  went  out  together,  Mary  leading  the 
way  toward  Cecilia's  school. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  said  Henry. 

"  I  do  not  precisely  know,  but  I  have  a  sort  of  instinct 
that  she  is  to  be  found  somewhere  in  this  quarter." 

"How  absurd,  Mary!  We  are  quite  out  of  the  com- 
mon track.  Those  are  not  shops  and  houses  that  Cecilia 
would  be  likely  to  visit !" 

"Now,  Henry,  once  in  your  life  be  guided  by  me! 
Cecilia  said  something  about  First  avenue  when  she 
went  out,  and  of  going  to  see  some  poor  people." 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  195 

The  two  walked  quickly  on  until  they  reached  the 
house  where  Mary  knew  her  sister  probably  was,  unless, 
indeed,  she  had  crossed  them  on  her  way  home.  Mary 
went  up  the  steps,  and,  followed  closely  by  Henry,  groped 
her  way  along  the  dark,  narrow  hall.  There  was  a 
door  at  the  end  of  the  passage.  This  she  pressed  open 
very  softly,  and  exposed  the  whole  interior  to  Mr.  Elliot's 
gaze.  There  sat  Cecilia,  her  back  turned  to  the  visitors; 
one  arm  encircled  a  little  girl,  who  nestled  close  to  her 
side ;  at  her  knee  stood  another  child,  ciphering  on  a 
tiny  slate;  other  little  ones  were  clustered  around  her, 
evidently  listening  with  the  greatest  interest.  Suddenly 
one  of  them  pointed  to  the  door.  Cecilia  turned,  and, 
seeing  the  new-comers,  reddened  to  the  roots  of  her  hair. 

"  Mary ! "  she  cried,  "  how  did  you  come  here  ?  " 

"  Who  is  that  gentleman  ?  "  whispered  the  children. 

"That  is  my  husband.     Come  in,  Henry!  " 

Henry  came  forward;  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  Cecilia, 
and  she  could  see  that  there  were  tears  in  them. 

"  lie  ought  to  be  a  very  good  gentleman,"  said  one 
little  boy,  looking  up  at  him. 

"  Why  ought  he  to  be  good,"  said  Henry,  "more  than 
another  ?  " 

"  Oh,  because  your  signora  is  so  good !  "  said  the  boy, 
laughing. 

"Would  you  like  to  hear  them  sing?"  inquired 
Cecilia. 

Henry  nodded. 

She  raised  her  finger  and  began,  "  I  want  to  be  an 
angel ! " 

They  all  joined  in  the  chorus.  It  was  touching  to 
hear  their  shrill,  infant  voices. 


196  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"I  must  go  now,"  said  Cecilia,  taking  up  her  hat;  "I 
must  say  good-by ! " 

"Oh,  don't  go  1  don't  go!"  cried  her  little  friends. 

"  Yes,  but  I  must!  I  cannot  keep  Mr.  Elliot  and  my 
sister  waiting.  "Good-by  for  to-day!  I  shall  come 
back  to-morrow ;  that  is  not  far  distant  I " 

The  three  walked  out  together.  Henry  did  not  say  a 
word,  but,  drawing  Cecilia's  arm  in  his,  pressed  it  closer 
to  his  side. 

"Is  that  the  work  you  told  me  of? "  he  whispered. 

"Yes,  Henry,  and  a  work  I  love  1" 

"  I,  too,  love  it  1"  he  said. 

That  evening,  after  dinner,  when  the  two  were  alone 
together,  Cecilia  looked  beseechingly  at  her  husband, 
and  said,  "  Don't  go  to  your  club,  Henry,  to-night." 

"  I  had  no  thought  of  going,"  he  answer',  d,  and  seating 
himself  by  her  side,  drew  her  tenderly  toward  him. 

She  laid  her  head  upon  his  shoulder.  "Dear  Henry," 
she  said,  "  it  is  long  since  I  have  known  this  sweet  rest." 

"  Believe  me,  I  have  missed  you,  darling,"  he  answered, 
and  looked  with  eyes  of  love  upon  her  earnest  face. 

"Oh,  Htiiiry,  I  feel  so  h-ippy  when  you  are  good  to 
me.  Do  you  know,  dearest — I  want  to  tell  you  all, 
though  it  is  hard  to  say  it — it  was  Rosa  Thornton  who 
first  showed  me  the  work  for  which  I  was  fitted.  A 
kind  boon,  was  it  not,  bestowed  by  that  poor  circus  girl 
whom  I  treated  so  rude'y  when  she  came  to  our  house? 
She  requited  my  scorn  by  teaching  me  how  to  win  your 
respect,  perhaps  your  love,  Ili-nry." 

"Cecilia  ?  "  said  Henry,  kneeling  at  her  feet. 

"  What  is  it,  Henry  ?     Speak !  you  frighten  me." 

"Cecilia,  I  have  something  to  tell   you — something 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  197 

that  for  months  has  weighed  upon  my  heart.  I  have  done 
you  a  wrong.  The  only  expiation  I  can  make  is  con- 
fession. I  am  unworthy  of  your  love." 

"  For  God's  sake,  Henry,  tell  me  what  you  mean  ! " 

"  I  will  tell  you,  Cecilia.  When  that  young  girl  was 
here—" 

"  Rosa  Thornton  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Did  you  love  her,  Henry  ?  "  she  ask^d,  in  a  hollow  voice. 

"No,  darling;  I  have  always  loved  yon  and  you  alone. 
But  I  was  fascinated  by  her.  It  was  a  sudden  t  jmpta- 
tion,  the  blind  impulse  of  a  moment ;  but  the  man  who 
is  guilty  of  such  weakness  no  longer  merits  the  love  of 
a  true  woman.  She  called  me  a  traitor  as  I  was.  My 
darling,  my  wife,  can  you  be  merciful  and  forgive  ?" 

"  Dearest  Henry,"  she  said  slowly,  "I  forgive  you.  I, 
too,  have  to  ask  forgiveness.  I  was  capricious  and  ex- 
asperating. I  seemed  cold  to  you.  I  had  been  taught 
to  hide  my  feelings.  I  was  afraid  of  displeasing  you—  of 
lessening  your  love.  But  I  have  always  loved  you  with 
my  whole  soul.  I  have  loved  you  so  dearly,  so  passion- 
ately, that  I  have  not  always  loved  you  wisely." 

"You  are  a  noble  woman,"  said  Henry,  "a  noble, 
generous  woman.  It  shall  be  my  life's  labor  to  make 
myself  worthier  of  you." 

They  sat  long  in  silence.  His  arms  enfolded  her  in  a 
fond  embrace;  her  head  nestled  upon  his  breast.  The 
twilight  had  well-nigh  faded,  and  the  room  was  darken- 
ing fast;  but  upon  the  young  wife's  face  shone  a  new 
light,  that  brought  sunshine  to  the  heart  of  her  husband. 

"  Darling,  all  is  forgotten,  is  it  not  ?  "  he  said. 

"  All,  forever,"  she  whispered,  "  save  only  our  love." 


CHAPTER  XV, 

OSA'S  voyage  passed  without  any  incidents  of 
note.  She  was  ill  during  the  first  few  days, 
and  kept  her  berth.  When  at  length  she  ven- 
tured to  go  on  deck  she  secured  a  snug  teat 
under  the  lee  of  the  wheel-house,  where  she  could  be 
sheltered  and  undisturbed.  She  wrapped  her  shawl 
about  her  and  drew  her  hood  tightly  over  her  face,  but 
could  not  altogether  escape  observation. 

Two  or  three  gentlemen  in  particular  regarded  her 
with  marked  attention,  and  laid  wagers  in  the  smoking- 
room  as  to  her  nativity  arid  social  status.  On  one 
occasion,  the  most  enterprising  of  the  party  sprung 
forward  with  an  offer  to  carry  her  blanket  shawl  down 
to  her  state-room;  but  she  replied  coldly  that  she 
required  no  assistance,  to  the  discomfiture,  and,  as  he 
had  lost  his  wager,  much  also  to  the  damage  of  the 
courteous  gentleman. 

Mystei  it-8,  however,  on  ship-board  are  short-lived, 
and  it  was  presently  reported  that  the  celebrated  circus- 
rider,  who  had  made  so  much  noise  in  New  York,  was 
among  the  passengers,  and  from  that  hour  all  the  young 
swells  of  the  ship's  company  considered  themselves 
privileged  to  offer  her  any  civilities  (so  they  translated 
impertinences)  they  chose.  Rosa  soon  found  cause  to 
change  her  place,  and  seated  herself  apart  from  the  rest, 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  199 

with  her  head  turned  away  from  the  deck  and  its  merry 
promenaders. 

One  day  the  young  girl,  whose  bitter  grief  at  leaving 
New  York  had  drawn  Rosa's  attention,  came  over  to 
where  our  heroine  sat,  and  asked  timidly  if  she  were  not 
lonely  there.  Being  answered  in  the  affirmative,  she 
took  a  seat  near  her,  and  soon  fell  into  intimate  con- 
versation. When  Kosa,  among  oth-jr  things,  told  her 
that  she  was  going  home,  her  companion  regretted 
mournfully  that  she,  for  her  part,  had  no  home  to  revisit; 
she  had  been  sent  out  to  be  governess  in  an  American 
family,  who  were  to  pass  the  winter  in  Rome;  she 
had  no  parents  living,  and  the  elderly  person  who  had 
attended  her  to  the  steamer  was  only  her  uncle.  He 
was  rich  and  had  offered  her  a  home,  but  there  were 
reasons  why  she  did  not  wish  to  be  dependent  on  him. 
Rosa  suggested  that  they  might  travel  together  as  far 
as  Genoa.  Her  new  acquaintance,  however,  expected 
to  meet  at  Paris  some  friends  of  her  uncle,  with  whom 
she  was  to  spend  a  fortnight,  and  afterward  to  go 
to  Switzerland,  where  the  family  she  was  to  live  with 
would  meet  her. 

One  method  of  relieving  the  tedium  of  life  at  sea, 
Rosa  and  her  new  acquaintance  could  not  follow  them- 
selves ;  but,  as  it  formed  the  staple  of  conversation  at  all 
times  and  places,  they  became  sufficiently  familiar  with 
it.  This  was  the  inte'lectual  pistime  of  betting  on  the 
ship's  time — how  many  knots  had  been  made  in  the  past 
twenty-four  hours;  how  many  would  be  made  in  the 
next;  from  these  abstruse  data,  to  calculate  the  hour  of 
the  ship's  arrival  in  port  It  was  the  custom  of  these 
amateurs  to  conduct  their  discussions  in  the  immediate 


200  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

vicinity  of  Rosa,  in  order,  by  loud  laughter  and  debate, 
to  attract  her  attention;  but  she  heeded  them  little, 
and  they  were  fain  to  retire  in  high  dudgeon  at  the 
small  effect  they  had  produced. 

At  length,  the  Westphalia  came  within  sight  of  land. 
The  distant  coast  slowly  detached  itself  from  the  mist 
that  enveloped  it.  The  long  line  of  desolate  sand-hills 
gradually,  as  if  touched  by  some  magic  wand,  opened, 
and  disclosed  houses,  steeples  and  towers. 

There  was  life  and  movement  in  the  busy  port,  and 
blithe  welcome  awaited  many  of  the  ship's  company, 
but  Rosa  had  no  friends  there  to  greet  her;  not  a  soul 
had  counted  the  days  since  her  departure,  and  scanned 
the  weather,  fearing  and  hoping  for  her  sake ;  not  one 
heart  had  throbbed  the  faster  for  the  telegram  that  an- 
nounced her  safe  arrival.  A  chilling  sense  of  isolation 
crept  over  her  as  the  shore  drew  nearer.  What  was  this 
old  world  to  her — or  she  to  it  ?  Alone !  alone  !  she 
echoed  the  word,  until  her  eyes  were  dim  with  tears. 

After  a  brief  stay  at  Brest,  the  vessel  steamed  away 
for  Havre.  Another  day,  and  Havre  rose  in  sight;  the 
voyage  was  at  an  end.  Yet  Rosa  hardly  shared  the 
delight  of  her  companions ;  it  was  no  pleasure  tour  that 
awaited  her  on  those  sunny  shores,  but  earnest,  serious 
work — work  which  involved  her  destiny.  She  meant  to 
land  among  the  first,  and  take  the  earliest  train  for  Paris, 
for  she  hoped,  before  another  night,  to  be  on  her  way  to 
Italy.  There,  if  anywhere,  lay  her  career,  there  opened 
for  her  an  indefinite  future,  in  whose  dim  vistas  she  saw, 
or  hoped  she  saw,  a  laurel  wreath. 

When  Rosa  reached  Paris,  she  had  just  time  enough 
to  bid  her  friend  good-by,  to  dine,  and  ride  to  the  station 


THE    ITALIAN   GIRL.  201 

of  the  Lyons  railway,  where  she  took  the  train  for  Nice. 
Having  had  the  prudence  to  procure  a  first-class  ticket, 
she  was  allotted  a  place  in  the  compartment  reserved  for 
ladies,  and  was  soon  fast  aslee  .  Arriving  at  Nic^,  after 
a  long  but  uneventful  ride,  she  took  the  diligence  for 
Genoa,  where  she  arrived  early  in  the  morning. 

Taking  a  vetturina,  Rosa  drove  to  a  house  in  the 
street  of  Santa  Catarina,  which  she  had  formerly  known 
as  a  boarding  house.  There  was  one  small  room  at  her 
disposal — in  that  she  installed  herself,  and  now  she  was 
at  home  in  Italy  once  more. 

She  flung  open  her  window,  and  looked  forth  into  the 
familiar  streets,  whose  very  air  seemed  redolent  of 
flowers.  Was  it  possible  that  two  short  weeks  ago  she 
had  been  on  another  continent — in  that  great  American 
city,  which  differed  so  utt>  ily  from  this!  How  distinct 
were  the  costumes,  gestures,  expressions  of  the  pa-sers- 
by,  from  th»  se  which  met  her  gaze  from  her  lodgings 
in  the  Third  avenue.  Instead  of  the  pale,  thin-visaged, 
shoulder-stooping  man  of  business,  and  the  woman  of 
fashion,  rustling  in  her  rich  silks,  there  below  her  passed 
the  burly  facchino,  the  friar  in  his  brown  gown,  im- 
pudent-looking officers  trailing  their  long  swords, 
black-browed  women,  and  bright-eyed  girls,  whose  good 
looks  were  set  off  by  long  veils  of  whi^e  muslin,  disposed 
with  artful  simplicity  about  their  heads.  Eosa  leaned 
out  of  the  window  to  watch  the  scene.  "Oh,  Italy!" 
she  murmured,  as  she  shut  the  casement,  "  thou  art  but 
a  strange,  cold  mother  to  thy  returning  child!  Was  it 
thee  I  called  by  the  fond  name  of  home  ?  Home,  alas  1 — 
to  make  it  homelike  n  'eds  some  loving  hearts." 

Eosa  took  up  her  Shakspeare,  and  opening  the  volume 
9» 


202  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

at  Romeo  and  Juliet,  her  eyes  caught  the  line  which  Mr. 
Livingstone  had  quoted :  "  Parting  is  such  sweet  sorrow." 
She  closed  the  book  hastily — the  words  caused  her 
pain.  She  turned  to  Scribe's  play,  and  fell  to  reciting 
the  part  of  Adrienne. 

She  broke  off  abruptly — "  I  must  see  Helena  Ortelli  ! " 
she  exclaimed.  "  They  wrote  me  that  she  was  living 
here  in  Genoa.  Why,  I  wonder,  did  she  leave  the  stage? 
— in  the  zenith  of  her  powers,  too  ?  To  lead  the  life  of 
a  recluse,  as  they  said  she  did  !  But  how  am  I  to  find 
her?  In  some  way  it  must  be  done,  for  I  must  see  her — 
talk  with  her!  I  will  not  leave  her  door  until  she  has 
heard  me.  She  will  not  deny  me — for  she  looked  so 
good — so  like  an  angel — when  I  saw  her.  It  is  true,  I 
was  then  very  young,  and  since  that  day  I  have  learned 
to  put  less  trust  in  faces!" 

Rosa  stood  motionless  for  some  moments,  rapt  in  her 
thoughts,  then  went  on  with  the  part  she  was  studying. 
— "Que  n'aurais'je  pas  ten te  pour  une  rivale  !" — "Une 
rivale!"  she  echoed,  with  curling  lips  and  flashing  eyes. 
Presently,  in  the  midst  of  Adrienne's  passionate  sen- 
tences, she  cut  short  her  rehearsal  with,  "  I  will  go  to  old 
Signor  Rossi!  He  was  friendly  to  me,  and  once — I 
remember  now — once  I  saw  him  walking  with  the  great 
actress,  chatting  and  laughing  as  if  the  two  were  well 
acquainted.  No  doubt  he  can  give  me  her  address." 

No  sooner  had  the  thought  entered  Rosa's  mind,  than 
she  caught  up  her  bonnet  and  mantle,  and  was  already 
in  the  street,  before  she  had  asked  herself  the  preliminary 
question,  where  Signor  Rossi  lived?  Directories  there 
were  none — there  New  York  had  an  advantage  over 
Genoa.  Should  she  try  the  post-office?  No,  the  best 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  203 

course  was  to  go  straight  to  the  theatre.  True,  he  had 
long  since  retired  from  the  stage,  but  somebody  there 
must  know  where  he  was  to  be  found.  To  the  theatre 
she  turned,  and  applying  at  the  box  office,  was  informed, 
that  the  Signor  Rossi's  apartments  were  in  Pietra  Minuta. 
Up  the  steep,  narrow  streets,  which  looked  like  fissures 
in  the  cliff,  climbed  Rosa,  and  came  at  length  to  the 
designated  door.  To  her  inquiry  came  the  welcome 
answer,  "Signor  Rossi  C'e!"  She  entered,  and,  after 
waiting  a  long  time,  heard  the  old  man's  step  in  the 
passage.  He  came  across  the  room,  screwing  up  his  eyes 
to  distinguish  his  vi&itor. 

"  Signor  Rossi  does  not  remember  me,"  she  said. 

"It  is  true,  signorina,  but  I  feel  profoundly  honored 
by  this  visit." 

"  Can  you  not  recall,"  she  continued,  "  a  child  who, 
five  years  ago,  rode  in  the  circus  here  at  Genoa — with 
whom,  after  the  spectacle,  you  walked  home,  holding  her 
hand  in  yours  ?  She  was  a  mere  child  then,  but  she 
knew  it  was  a  great  honor  to  have  the  famous  actor, 
Signor  Rossi,  at  her  side." 

"I  remember  her  very  well.  What  has  become  of  the 
pretty  creature  ?  " 

"  I  am  she,"  said  Rosa,  blushing  and  laughing. 

He  took  both  her  hands  in  his,  and  seemed  delighted 
to  see  her  again.  "Bella!  Bellisdima  ! "  he  exclaimed, 
admiringly,  and  sat  down  by  her  side,  still  holding  her 
hands.  She  did  not  withdraw  them — he  was  such  an 
old  man,  and  she  knew  it  was  only  his  Italian  way.  It 
was  so  sweet  to  be  kindly  treated  by  any  one,  khat  his 
friendly  tones  went  to  her  heart.  He  made  her  tell  him 
all  she  had  seen  and  done  since  they  last  met,  saying  he 


204  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

had  heard  of  her  in  Paris.  She  told  her  story,  and  at 
last  came  out  with  her  great  secret — she  wished  him  to 
give  her  a  note  of  introduction  to  Helena  Ortelli. 

"But  do  you  know,"  said  he,  "  that  she  is  no  longer 
Helena  Ortelli,  but  the  Contessa  Malaspina — that  she 
has  shut  herself  up  from  the  whole  world,  and  will  not 
see  a  living  soul — not  even  her  old  friend  Rossi  ?  " 

"  But  you  might  write  to  her,"  urged  Rosa,  coaxingly; 
"  she  could  not  be  displeased  at  that !  Oh,  pray,  Signor 
Rossi !  do  not  refuse  this  favor !  The  hope  of  my  life 
depends  on  it  I"  She  clasped  her  hands,  and  looked 
in  his  face  so  beseechingly,  that  he  had  not  the  heart  to 
deny  her. 

"Well,  well!"  he  said,  "I  will  write  to  her,  but  you 
must  do  the  rest.  She  is  very  haughty  and  wayward, 
and  may  take  umbrage  at  an  ai  tempt  of  this  kind,  in  the 
teeth  of  her  pronounced  desires.  You  ought  not  to 
hope,  my  little  girl,  that  the  countess  will  do  anything 
for  you.  I  do  not  say,  however,  that  she  may  not  — 
perhaps  your  sweet  J'ace  may  prove  a  passport  to  your 
iavor!  It  is  true,  you  women  care  little  for  beauty  in 
your  own  sex — but  Helena  used  to  be  bandsome  enough 
to  bear  the  most  inquisitive  sunlight,  and  the  pivsance 
of  the  fairest  at  ber  side.  How  it  is  now,  I  do  not  know, 
but  fear  she  is  changed.  How  magnificent  that  woman, 
was  !  I  played  Hippolytus  once,  to  her  Pluudre,  and  her 
acting  ^o  magnetized  me,  tbat  for  tbe  lirst  time  in  my 
life  I  forgot  my  cues,  and  stood  silent  with  staring  eyes 
wbfii  my  turn  came  to  .sp,ak.  She  was  a  grand  actress!" 

Proceeding  to  a  little  writing-desk,  be  wrote  a  letter  of 
introduction,  and,  handing  it  to  bis  young  visitor: 

••  1  am  not  sure,  my  dear,  whether  1  do  well,  or  uo ;  but 


THE    ITALIAN   GIRL.  205 

you  impulsive  young  creatures  are  like  patent  corkscrews 
to  our  old  heads.  Before  we  dream  of  it,  pop  goes  the 
cork,  and  fizz  goes  the  foam.  Perhaps  the  latter,  this 
time,  may  spot  the  silk  dress  of  the  Contessa  Malaspina ; 
but  I  shall  cast  the  blame  on  you ! " 

"No,"  said  Rosa,  "you  shall  not  be  censured — I  will 
stand  the  brunt  of  the  whole  !  I  am  so  much  obliged 
to  you,  Signor  Rossi — indeed  I  am !  I  never  expected 
so  cordial  a  welcome.  Good-by,  sir ! — I  wish  you  would 
come  to  see  me." 

"  Yes,  I  understand !  "  said  he,  "  you  can  invite  with 
impunity  an  old  fellow  like  me!" 

Rosa  smiled.  "You  know  you  would  consider  any 
woman  rash,  who  thought  that,"  she  said;  "  believe  me, 
I  shall  be  truly  glad  to  see  you  again.  Good-by,  Siguor 
Rossi — and  many,  many  thanks!" 

"  First  tind  out  whether  I  merit  your  thanks,  and  then 
come  yours<  If  and  bring  them.  Addio !  "  He  watched 
her  light  form  until  it  vanished  down  the  stree%  and 
then  turned  back  into  his  room,  which,  to  the  kindly 
old  man,  seemed  suddenly  plunged  in  shadow. 

When  Rosa  left  the  abode  of  Signor  Rossi,  she  hastened 
to  the  nearest  piazza,  and  there  taking  a  carriage,  drove 
to  the  Palazzo  Doria.  For  some  moments  after  she 
alighted,  she  could  not  resist  gazing  with  awe  at  the 
sumptuous  edifice.  At  length,  the  knocked  timidly  at 
the  gate,  which  was  opened  by  a  woman  conspicuously 
unwashed,  attended  by  a  brood  of  ragged  brats,  all  of 
whom,  in  a  sort  of  chorus  of  dumb-show,  pointed  her 
further  on.  Following  the  passage  they  had  indicated, 
Rosa  came  on  a  second  gate,  which  opened  ou  a  marble 
staircase. 


206  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

She  went  slowly  up  the  steps,  lingering  over  the 
frescoes  and  bus-reliefs  which  adorned  the  walls,  and 
straggling  the  while  to  pluck  up  courage  for  her  enter- 
prise. Instinct  told  her — and  experience,  too — that  it 
was  far  more  trying — when  she  had  favors  to  ask — to 
face  a  woman  than  a  man.  Reaching  the  top  of  the 
stairs,  she  rang  a  bell,  and  a  door  was  opened  by  a 
withered  peascod  of  an  usher,  appareled  in  a  scarlet 
waistcoat,  who,  seeing  Rosa,  btgan  straightway  to  grind 
out  in  a  nondescript  dialect,  half  Genoese,  half  Venetian  : 
"These,  which  you  see  here,  are  frescoes  made  by  a 
pupil  of  the  great  Raphael;  those  on  the  left,  represent 
Venus — that  yonder  is  the  Goddess  of  Love,  attended  by 
the  Graces ;  those  on  the  right  are  after  the  antique,  in 
the  late  Pompeian  style ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  Rosa,  smiling,  "  they  are  very  beautiful ! " 
The  man  dropped  his  cicerone  tone — "  Oh,  tha  signora 
id  Italian  1  Then  of  course  she  does  not  come  to  see  the 
frescoes.  I  thought  she  did  not  look  like  an  Inglese  I 
Will  the  Siguora  enter  ?  " 

lie  led  her  into  a  narrow  hull,  one  side  of  which  was 
lined  with  life-size  portraits  of  men  clad  in  various 
armor,  and  brilliant  niediajval  costumes.  It  gave  Rosa 
a  twinge  to  look  at  them,  for  they  reminded  her  forcibly 
of  the  harlequin  dress  which  George,  the  clown,  used  to 
wear — but  the  wrinkled,  satyr-like  laces  that  peered  out 
from  them  had  little  in  common  with  her  old  friend's 
frank  and  honest,  though  somewhat  woeful  countenance. 
"  Yes!"  replied  the  usher  to  her  look  of  inquiry,  "  These 
are  Andrew  Doria  and  his  brothers!  And  that  is  the 
nephew,  Gianettino  Doria,  his  favorite  — whom  the  cruel 
Fiecchi  slew."  Rosa  paused,  and  sumyed  them  with 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  207 

interest,  but  recollecting  the  purpose  of  her  visit,  asked 
if  the  Signora  Coutessa  Malaspina  was  at  home. 

"  Is  the  signorina  a  relation — may  I  ask  ?  " 

"No!  but  I  wish  to  see  her.  I  have  a  letter  for 
her." 

"  If  the  signorina  will  favor  me  with  it,  I  will  per- 
sonally deliver  it!"  This  assurance  seemed  to  be,  on 
his  part,  an  instance  of  the  greatest  possible  condescen- 
sion, for  he  waved  his  hand  as  if  to  say — "  Could  more 
be  done  for  Victor  Emmanuel,  or  Doge  Andrea  Doria 
himself?" 

With  a  smile,  Kosa  handed  him  the  letter  and  her 
card,  but  before  proceeding  to  execute  her  orders,  the 
servant  ushered  her  into  a  large  apartment,  containing 
a  huge  chimney  place,  within  whose  ample  sides  in 
ancient  days  young  troubadours  might  have  sat  and 
played  their  guitars.  From  the  ceiling  Jupiter  and  his 
allies  were  hurling  the  Titans  from  Olympus,  while 
other  frescoes,  depicting  classic  or  medieval  myths, 
adorned  the  walls.  In  the  middle  of  this  room  was  a 
group  of  persons,  who  were  evidently  tourists.  There  was 
the  regulation  pater-familias,  with  bushy,  sandy-colored 
whiskers;  a  burly  lad,  an  exact  likeness  of  his  Anglican 
sire,  seen  through  a  diminishing  glass,  and  rejoicing  in 
the  embryo  chin-tufts  of  the  same  execrable  hue.  and  a 
young  woman  with  naming  cheeks  and  reddish  hair, 
which,  packed  in  a  net,  hung  half-way  down  her  neck. 
Each  of  these  interesting  persons  was  perusing,  with 
pious  credulity,  a  volume  printed  for  their  edification  by 
John  Murray,  of  London. 

"Hum — yes— oh — !  Really  a  neat  bit  of  painting!" 
pronounced  the  elder  Briton,  in  a  strong,  English  accent, 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

directing  his  eye -glass  with  critical  approval  toward  the 
ceiling,  •<  Raphael's  own,  I  see  !" 

"  By  no  means,  dear  sir ! "  cried  the  youth,  with  an  air 
of  profound  wisdom.  "  That  is  a  pupil's  work  !  I  can't 
quite  make  out  his  name  here  in  Murray,"  he  continued, 
turning  again  to  the  source  of  his  connoisseurahip, 
"There's  lots  of  humbug  in  this  sort  of  thing.  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  old  what-d'ye-call-'em  did  it  him- 
self." 

'•  Now  don't  be  absurd,  Walter,"  said  the  girl,  "it  was 
Raphael's  own  pupil  did  it ;  and  I'm  sure  'tis  beautiful ! " 

"There's  lots  of  chaff  in  that  sort  of  thing,  you 
know  !  "  pursued  the  youth. 

"  I  am  sure,  I  don't  know  why  you  travel  at  all,  if  you 
can't  take  interest  in  anything.  You  are  always  sneer- 
ing! I  dare  say,  now,  you  don't  believe  this  was  the 
very  chair  in  which  Charles  the  Fifth  reclined  ?" 

'•Of  course  I  don't!  Why  in  the  world  should  they 
preserve  that  particular  chair  longer  than  any  other 
piece  of  worn-out  furniture  ?  Everybody  must  sit  down 
somewhere — must  they  not  ?  And  why  should  a  Span- 
iard's sitting  down  in  it  enhance  the  value  of  that 
article  ?  " 

"  Because  he  was  a  great  emperor !  and  it  seems  to 
bring  him  nearer  to  see  the  very  chair  he  used  !  " 

"Great  humbug,  I  call  him!  Him,  and  the  rest  of 
those  historical  parties!" 

"  Pray  speak  to  him,  papa,  and  bid  him  respect  such 
things.  It  is  wrong  to  speak  irreverently  of  a  great  man 
and  monarch !'' 

1'arental  interference  proved  unnecessary,  for  this 
young  apjstle  of  British  breeding  espied  Ifosa  at  thi.-i 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  209 

moment,  ami  delecting  in  her  a  benighted  native  of  the 
continent,  with  whom  the  etiquette  of  St  James'  street 
would  be  superfluous,  approached  her.  Rosa  had  her 
back  turned  toward  the  tourists,  and  was  gazing  at  a 
worm-eaten  palanquin  which  had  once  borne  the  great 
Doria  himself  through  the  streets  of  IT  proud  city,  on 
his  return  from  conquests  in  the  Levant.  She  had  lost 
herself  in  the  memories  it  awakened,  when  some  one 
rudely  tapped  her  parasol.  She  turned  quickly,  and 
seeing  a  singularly  unattractive  young  man,  merely 
opened  her  eyes  a  little  wider  and  waited  for  him  to 
explain  his  conduct. 

''Beg  pardon!"  said  he  carelessly,  "that's  a  comical 
kind  of  old-fashioned  coach,  isn't  it?  "  Rosa  stared  at 
him.  "Molto  bello!"  he  continued,  drawing  out  his 
stock  of  Italian,  meaning  evidently  to  put  forth  the 
claim  of  cosmopolitan  culture,  and  at  the  same  time 
reveal  to  this  young  woman  the  hidden  beauties  of  her 
own  language.  "  Molto  bello,  molto  bello  1 "  he  repeated, 
pointing  with  a  little  nourish  of  the  finger  alternately  at 
the  chair  and  herself.  Anon  he  paused,  pondering  the 
address  with  Avhich  he  had  blended  mastery  of  a  foreign 
tongue  with  the  delivery  of  graceful  compliments — 
blissfully  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  he  had  transferred 
both  Rosa  and  the  chair  to  the  masculine  gender. 

"  If  \  chose  to  answer  your  impertinence,"  said  Rosa, 
in  pure  English,  "I  should  do  so  in  your  own  language  I 
Be  good  enough  to  leave  me ! " 

The  youth  was  subdued,  and  gave  a  final  proof  of  his 
British  origin  by  blushing,  not  merely  in  the  cheeks,  but 
all  over  his  throat.  In  his  discomfiture,  he  confided  to 
his  sister  his  impression  that  he  had  accosted  a  genuine 


210  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

Dogesse.    "  Mighty  high  airs  she  gives  herself,  anyhow ! 
Couldn't  she  tell  a  gentleman  when  she  saw  him  ?" 

At  this  moment  the  usher  returned,  and  coming 
up  to  Rosa,  informed  her  th  it  the  countess  would  receive 
her  with  pleasure. 

The  kind  message  somewhat  composed  Rosa's  mind, 
and  feeling,  on  the  whole,  more  courage  than  she  had 
been  able  to  summon  up  all  day,  she  hurried  after  the 
old  servitor.  Passing  through  a  bed-chamber,  which  she 
was  told  had  been  used  by  Andrea  Doria,  but  was  scantily 
furnished  now,  she  came  to  a  drawing-room,  at  whose 
threshold  the  usher  left  her.  Rosa,  finding  herself  alone, 
gazed  anxiously  around,  but  the  windows  were  darkened, 
and,  at  first,  little  could  be  discerned  ;  but  gradually,  as 
her  eyes  grew  accustomed  to  the  gloom,  one  object  after 
another  detached  itself  from  the  background,  until  the 
whole  room  and  its  furniture  took  form  before  her,  and 
interpreted  in  some  sort,  as  such  things  do,  the  tastes 
and  habits  of  the  owner.  In  the  centre  of  the  apartment 
was  a  broad  table,  draped  in  a  black  velvet  cloth,  whose 
border  was  embroidered  with  gold.  On  this  lay  a  volume 
of  Alfieri,  richly  bound,  and  an  album,  with  massive 
golden  clasps,  which  was  apparently  locked.  That  was 
all — there  were  none  of  those  trinkets  and  bijous  which 
usually  litter  a  lady's  ta')le.  The  window  curtains,  like 
the  cloth,  were  of  black  velvet,  and  the  hangings  of  gold. 
Over  the  piano — whose  covering  preserved  the  same 
sombre  colors,  and,  to  Rosa's  eyes,  made  the  instrument 
resemble  a  bier — hung  a  picture,  in  life  size,  of  a  woman 
perhaps  twenty-five  years  old.  The  form  was  exquisitely 
graceful — not  voluptuous,  like  Aphrodite's,  nor  fully 
rounded  like  a  Hebe's,  but  light  and  d  'licate  as  Psyche's. 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  211 

It  was  the  face — not  the  form,  which  first  arrested  atten- 
tion, as  it  fixed  Rosa's  now.  The  dark  eyes  were  large 
and  de*p,  and  seemed  looking  beyond  the  present  into 
the  mysterious  distance.  The  features  were  extremely 
regular,  so  regular  as  to  appear  cold ;  but  there  was  that 
in  the  eyes  which  well  might  baffle  the  beholder,  the  in- 
tense passion  of  a  Phsedre,  subdued  and  prisoned  beneath 
the  calm,  chaste  spirit  of  an  Iphigeneia.  Rosa  felt  that 
she  to  whom  those  eyes  belonged  might  have  been  a 
protagonist  in  some  tragedy  of  the  real  world,  yet,  at  the 
same  time,  by  the  irony  of  her  double  nature,  an  in- 
different observer  of  her  own  life-drama. 

Absorbed  in  such  reflections,  Rosa  stood  before  the 
picture,  when  suddenly  the  curtain  which  masked  the 
door  was  lilted,  and  disclosed  the  perfect  counterpart  of 
the  figure  upon  the  canvas.  For  some  moments  Rosa 
could  not  speak,  but  looked  blankly  from  one  to  the 
other  with  an  expression  of  complete  bewilderment. 

"  Yes,  it  is.I  1"  said  the  lady,  coldly;  "that  is  myself 
as  I  was!  But  that  is  long  ago!" 

"  It  is  you  as  you  are  this  instant ! "  cried  Rosa,  with 
uncontrollable  admiration. 

Apparently  the  lady  did  not  notice  her  remark,  for 
she  continued,  "  You  are,  I  suppose,  Mademoiselle  Rosa 
Thornton  ?  " 

"Si,  signora!"  said  Rosa.  The  color  rushed  to  her 
brow  as  she  encountered  the  piercing  glance  of  the 
countess. 

"  Sit  down,  Miss  Thornton !    You  know  who  I  am." 

"  You  are/'  said  Rosa,  "  of  all  the  world,  she  whom  I 
have  most  desired  to  meet  face  to  face.  I  saw  you  act 
once,  years  ago  I  I  was  quite  young  then — but  I  never 


212  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

forgot  it  Signora,  I  have  thought  of  you  constantly 
since  that  day ;  you  have  been  my  ideal — my  dream ! 
Ah ! "  she  said,  catching  her  breath,  "  if  I  might  only 
live  to  be  to  others  what  you  were  to  me  that  night ! " 

"  You  saw  me  on  the  stage,  then — where  ?  " 

"  Here,  in  Genoa.  I  was  a  mere  child,  as  I  said,  but 
the  memory  of  that  evening  is  fresh  as  yesterday.  And 
your  face,  signora — as  I  saw  it  then — has  haunted  me 
always,  like  those  strange  Eembrandt  pictures,  whose 
shadows  tempt  us  to  look  closer  stilL" 

"What  did  I  act ?"       .  . 

"Medea!" 

"  Did  you  understand  it  ?  n 

"I  thought  so;  but  I  know  now  I  did  not!" 

"  You  are  beautiful,"  said  Helena,  slowly  and  quietly, 
"  very  beautiful !  *' 

Again  Rosa  blushed  to  her  temples. 

"Do you  not  think  yourself  beautiful?" 

"  I  cure  nothing  for  beauty,"  cried  Rosa;  'c  I  would  be 
great!" 

"  Do  you  believe  you  can  ever  be  that  ?  " 

"I  believe  it!"  said  Rosa,  with  fervor.  " Do  not  mis- 
judge my  words,  but,  indeed,  I  feel  that  within  me  which 
demands  expression — something  that  burns  the  heart, 
like  fire.  I  am  very  ignorant,  I  know — very  foolish  yet, 
but  this  aspiration  that  throbs  so  wildly — that  pants  for 
escape — for  .utterance — I  feel  it  is  genuine,  neither 
mockery  nor  delusion!" 

"  It  is  the  artistic  instinct,"  said  Helena,  and  her  voice 
grew  sympathetic;  "  one  reads  it  in  your  face,  in  every 
gesture.  Now  tell  me  what  you  want  from  me/' 

"  I  hoped,"  said  Rosa,  "  I  had  faith  that  you  would  not 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  213 

send  me  uncounseled  away.  How  I  found  courage  to 
take  this  step,  I  know  not — but  here  ^  am.  If  you  do 
not  help  me,"  she  spoke  in  tones  that  were  almost  de- 
spairing, "  I  can  look  for  help  nowhere.  You  are  my 
last  hope!" 

"  "What  have  you  done  hitherto  ?  " 

Rosa  reddened — then  grew  pale  again,  but  did  not 
answer. 

"Tell  me,"  repeated  Helena,  in  softer  accents,  ''what 
have  you  been  doing  hitherto  ?  You  need  not  be  afraid 
of  me." 

"I  do  not  think  I  am  afraid  of  any  one,"  Rosa  paid, 
and  her  lips  curled  slightly,  while  something  of  the  old 
passionate  look  flashed  from  her  eyes.  Then,  lowering 
her  voice,  she  said,  "  I  was  a  circus-rider ! " 

"A  circus-rider!" 

"Si,  signora!  Ah,  you  think  it  a  vile  calling — but  I 
was  not  vile.  Ah,  signora!"  she  cried,  clasping  her 
hands,  while  the  tears  fell  fast  upon  her  cheek,  "I  came 
to  yon,  as  one  sister  to  another,  impulsively,  instinc- 
tively— I  know  not  why.  I  only  knew  that  the  same 
love  for  what  in  art  is  high  and  noble  lived  in  both,  that 
while  your  soul  may  be  like  the  ocean,  and  mine  but  a 
tiny  rivulet,  yet  both  are  stirred  by  the  ?ame  aspiration, 
both  swept  forward  by  one  yearning  toward  the  same 
ideal.  I  will  study  her  gestures,  I  told  myself,  her  look, 
her  accents,  until  I  have  made  myself  her  very  mirror, 
and  she  shall  say  to  me  one  day,  while  she  folds  me  in 
her  embrace:  '  Rosa,  thou  art  my  second  self !  " 

"N"o,  dear  child,"  said  Helena,  watching  the  varying 
emotion  that  flitted  like  alternate  cloud  and  sunshine 
across  Rosa's  face,  "thou  shalt  be  thyself — something 


214  THE    ITALIAN   GIRL. 

far  higher  than  I  could  ever  be  !  But  where,"  she  con- 
tinued, und  her  manner  changed  to  marble-like  immo- 
bility, "  where  did  you  learn  what  you  know — and  what 
you  feel  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean." 

"It  was  innate,  then,"  murmured  Helena  to  herself; 
"it  must  have  been  innate;"  then  addressing  Rosa,  "  I 
never  teach — I  have  never  taught  any  one.  The  truth  is, 
I  have  always  been  at  war  with  the  other  artists  of  the 
stage — at  least — I  was,  when  I  cared  for  such  things. 
That  was  long  ago,"  she  added,  pressing  her  hand  to  her 
brow.  "It  was  my  creed — my  heresy,  they  called  it — to 
believe  in  uninstructed  talent,  in  genius  that  teaches 
itself,  and  almost  without  conscious  effort — by  intuition 
— conceives  the  true  and  effective  method.  I  held  in  my 
hands  the  book  which  contained  my  part,  coldly  perusing 
it;  nothing  stirred  me  in  the  lines — I  read  them  aloud — 
when  suddenly  the  shadowy  words  took  shape  and  fervor 
before  me,  started  up  into  things  of  life.  At  the  best, 
frozen  statues  before,  they  sprang  from  their  niches  now, 
and  with  facile  grace  caught  nature's  gesture  and  atti- 
tude. Then  the  blood  coursed  like  lava  through  my 
veins.  I  felt  pity,  anguish,  love  by  turns — and  then 
— and  then,  my  child,  I  made  my  audience  feel  it  too — 
they  felt  with  me — wept  with  me;  they  remembered 
not  Helena  Ortelli,  they  cried,  'It  is  Clytemnestra — it  is 
Phaedra!"' 

Rosa  sat  transfixed,  her  eyes  riveted  on  the  face  before 
her.  That  face  commonly  was  pale  as  marble,  and  as 
cold — but  now  and  then,  when  she  spoke,  it  lightened  with 
a  rare  radiance,  as  if  the  morning  sun  had  flashed  14)011 
Alpine  snow.  Helena  had  closed  her  eyes  for  a  moment, 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  215 

bttt  presently  she  began  again.  "  The  rest,  however,  de- 
clared my  method  was  wrung,  that  acting  must  be  studied 
as  u  profession,  where  one  begins  at  the  bottom  of  the 
ladder,  and  climbs  painfully  and  slowly  upward;  that 
all  arts  implied  a  novitiate,  and  as  none  could  paint  at 
starting  an  immortal  picture,  which  was  only  to  be 
wrung  from  laborious  years,  so  must  the  actor  from  the 
nettle  failure,  pluck  at  last  the  flower  success!  But  I 
had  no  time  to  spare  for  discipline  like  this.  My  mother 
was  left  a  widow.  We  had  been  rich,  and  thought  our- 
Srlves  so  still,  the  day  my  father  died ;  the  next,  we  knew 
ourselves  to  be  bankrupt,  and  without  me  my  mother 
would  have  starved.  I  went  on  the  stage ;  the  devotees 
of  tradition  were  scandalized,  critics  and  rivals  raved, 
their  partisans  formed  a  clacque  to  hiss  me.  It  was  all 
in  vain — I  triumphed.  But  they  were  consoled  when  I 
fell — they  were  all  glad,  except  Salirui,  who  loved  art  for 
art's  sake.  I  have  told  you  all  this,  my  child,  that 
you  might  learn  something  from  my  mistakes.  %Ypu 
must  be  more  prudent  than  I  was;  you  need  not  sur- 
render your  convictions,  but  you  need  not  parade  them, 
either.  You  must  not  unmask  too  rudely  the  errors  of 
others,  or  sting  too  sharply  their  self-conceit — for  they 
are  cruel,  and  they  are  strongly  Ah,  I  should  be  glad  to 
see  my  old  enemirs  humbled  once  again,  and  proud  to 
see  them  vanquished  by  your  hand,  and  then,  when  men 
asked,  'Who  taught  her?'  to  hear  the  reluctant  reply — 
'She  was  trained  by  Helena  Ortelli!'  They  have  not 
forgotten  me  yet ! " 

'•  Why,"  cried  Kosa,  with  enthusiasm,  "  why  do  you 
not  act  yourself?  How  could  you  bring  yourself 
to  turn  your  back  on  such  success  as  yours — with 


216  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

such  a  grand  career.  You  would  have  made  yourself 
immortal." 

lleleua  shook  her  head.  "  Ours,  at  best,  is  a  fleeting 
fame,  for  our  art  deals  not  with  marble  or  canvas,  but 
with  a  medium  far  more  ephemeral.  Through  the  eye 
and  ear  we  win  admittance  to  the  brain,  but  when  the 
living  eye  and  ear  to  which  we  appealed  are  dead — what 
remains  to  authenticate  our  merit  ?  We  perish  with  the 
audience  we  moved.  Oh  God  !  I  have  often  murmured, 
as  I  have  left  the  boards  where  a  thousand  eyes  had 
dwelt  on  me  alone,  a  thousand  voices  proclaimed  their 
gratitude  and  joy — yes,  while  the  long  brava!  yet  echoed 
in  my  ears — my  God,  I  cried,  is  there  no  way  to  fix  this 
glory?  May  it  be  neither  carved,  painted,  written,  nor 
sung?  Alas,  no  !  It  will  vanish — break  like  a  roseate 
mist,  and  where  once  it  added  color,  lustre  and  mystery 
to  the  landscape  not  a  trace  of  it  will  remain  behind. 
Another  mist  will  rise  to-morrow — to  drape  nature  with 
fresh  loveliness,  and  translate  her  into  a  novel  beauty — 
to  die  as  surely  in  its  turn.  So  it  will  be  with  you  and 
me.  I  was — you  shall  be; — but  tho  author  we  interpret 
was,  is,  and  is  to  come.  They  said  I  made  Allicri  to  live 
again  ;  they  may  say  as  much  one  day  of  you.  Empty 
vaunts  1  Allieri  dies  not — while  we — what  are  we  but 
poor  tapers  that,  flickering  fur  an  hour,  illumine  the 
letters  of  his  name  which  are  graven  in  deathless  brass ! " 

"Ah,"  said  Rosa,  "if  I  might  only  light  the  taper! 
Would  I  felt  sure  of  thatl" 

"But  you  must  feel  sure.  You  must  strangle  your 
doubts — your  fears!  I  tell  you  nothing  but  a  resolution 
stubborn  as  granite,  and  elastic  as  steel,  can  cope  wim 
the  lions  in  your  path  1 " 


THE    ITALIAN  GIRL.  217 

"I  had  a  glimmer  of  this  before,"  said  Rosa,  "yet  was 
not  daunted;  but  since  I  have  seen  you,  signora — forgive 
me  if  I  confess  it — I  feel  helpless  and  hopeless,  as  I  can 
fancy  an  unchiseled  block  might  feel  beside  a  faultless 
statue!" 

"  It  will  be  easy,"  said  Helena,  smiling  now  for  the 
first  time — a  sad,  weary  smile  that  lent,  however,  a 
sweefness  to  her  features  Rosa  had  not  deemed  they 
could  wear.  "It  will  be  easy,  I  think,  to  chisel  it!" 

"  You  have  been  very — very  kind!"  said  Rosa,  rising, 
"but  I  impose  too  long  on  your  good  nature." 

*•  Where  are  you  going?"  inquired  Helena. 

"Home!"  said  Rosa.  "That  is,"  she  added,  "to  the 
only  home  I  have  ! " 

"And  where  is  that?"  pursued  the  countess. 

"In  Santa  Catarina — I  have  hired  a  little  apart- 
ment there!" 

'•  Who  is  with  you  ?  " 

"la-u  alone!" 

"Alone! — and  so  young!    That  will  never  do  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  have  lived  alone  all  my  life,  and  no  harm  has 
come  of  it !  " 

"  Have  you  no  mother  living  ?  " 

"I  have  a  mother,"  said  Rosa,  coloring. 

"  Where  is  she  ?  " 

"In  Sardinia!" 

"  Why  does  she  not  come  here,  to  take  care  of  you. 
She  must  be  sent  for !  " 

"She  cannot  come!"  said   Rosa,   quickly.  "I  have 

always  lived  alone,  traveled  alone,  and  what  I  am  I  have 

made  myself.    Do  not  imagine,  then,  that  I  cannot  take 

care  of  myself  now  1    I  have  been  for  years — as  I  told 

10 


218  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

you — a  circus-rider !  I  was  glad  to  be  questioned,  for  1 
wanted  courage  to  confess  it.  Strange,  is  it  not  ?  Only 
three  mouths  have  passed  since  I  lived  that  life,  yet  when 
I  look  back  to  it,  I  cannot  believe  that  1  could  sink  so 
low!  No,  that  young  girl  who  night  after  night  re- 
peated before  a  despicable  rabble  her  equestrian  feats, 
was  another  creature — not  myself — not  she  who  has 
talked  with  you.  When  I  think  of  these  things,  I  some- 
times fancy  I  see  double.  You  smile ;  but  you  will  not 
laugh,  I  know.  I  am  not  afraid  to  talk  freely  before 
you,  although  you  are — "  she  hesitated 

"  So  cold  ?  ''  said  Helena. 

"  No — such  a  stranger,  I  meant !  But  I  can  speak  to 
you,  as  if  I  had  known  you  all  my  life.  Farewell  now ! " 
said  llosa;  then  looking  up  into  her  face — "May  I  kiss 
you  ? "  she  said,  pleadingly.  Helena  drew  back.  "  I 
never  asked  before,"  said  Eosa,  in  a  low  tone,  "  to  kits 
any  onel" 

"  But  you  have  been  kissed  ?"  siid  Helena,  glancing 
keenly  at  her. 

The  blood  seemed  to  rush  in  waves  over  poor  Eosa's 
face.  It  was  a  painful  sight,  and  Helena  turned  her 
head ;  then,  suddenly  stepping  forward,  kissed  the  cheek 
of  the  blushing  girl. 

Eosa  looked  up  gratefully.  "  Thank  you  ! "  she  said. 

"  It  is  the  first  time  for  five  years  that  my  lips  have 
vouched  a  human  face,"  Helena 'said,  in  a  hollow  voice. 
"  I  meant  they  never  should  again.  For  your  sake  I 
h;i\e  broken  a  vow.  Will  you  come  to  me  to-morrow  ? 
A.t  what  hour  are  you  free  ?  " 

"  Oh,  at  all  hours — when  shall  you  care  to  see  me  ?" 

"  Can  you  come  at  twelve  o'clock  ?  " 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  219 

"  I  shall  be  here  at  that  hour.    Farewell,  signora ! " 

The  door  closed,  and  Helena  was  left  alone  in  the 
gloom  of  her  apartment.  Rosa  passed  hurriedly  through 
halls  and  corridors,  and  stepped  forth  into  the  sunlight 
that  flooded  the  streets.  She  looked  back  at  the  window 
of  the  countess's  room,  but,  although  the  sun's  rays  beat 
against  it,  they  could  not  penetrate  the  heavy  curtain", 
and  there  was  no  sign  of  her  friend  visible.  Kosa  was  so 
rapt  in  the  recollections  of  her  visit,  and  in  visions  of 
the  new  life  which  opened  before  her,  that  she  did  not 
notice  how  many  persons  turned  their  heads  as  she 
passed  by.  She  was  too  familiar,  moreover,  with  the 
demonstrative  Italian  fashion  of  signifying  admiration, 
to  pay  much  heed  to  it.  As  it  was,  indeed,  almost  every- 
body had  something  to  say.  At  length,  her  progress  was 
actually  impeded  by  two  young  men  who,  standing 
directly  in  her  path,  composed  a  species  of  barricade. 

"  Fair  angel ! "  began  one. 

"Divine  one!"  said  the  other,  "will  yon  not  vouch- 
safe to  us  the  honor  of  attending  you  to  your  home  ?" 

"Let  me  pass!"  said  Eosa,  looking  around  her  in 
great  distress. 

"  "What  bewitching  rage ! "  said  one  of  her  persecutors. 

"If  you  are  a  gentleman,"  cried  Rosa,  "let  me  pass!" 
At  this,  one  of  them  stood  aside,  and  she  went  on  her 
way. 

At  last,  after  sustaining  more  vulgar  scrutiny,  and 
deliberate  affronts,  she  reached  her  home,  and  bursting 
into  tears,  "Oh!"  she  cried,  "America  was  a  more 
civilized  country  than  this !  T  ere,  at  least,  they  keep 
their  insults  for  those  whose  position  they  know — but 
here,  every  man  has  a  word  of  insolence  for  every  woman 


220  THE    ITALIAN   GIRL, 

whom  he  meets  in  thi  streets.  And  this  is  my  native 
land  chat  I  so  yearned  for !  Ah,  he  is  not  here  to  pro- 
tect me.  He  would  have  made  them  suffer  for  their 
impertinence ;  one  lo  >k  out  of  his  brave  eyes  would  have 
made  the  scoundrels  quail !  What  deep,  sweet  eyes  they 
were;  when  they  dwelt  on  mine,  I  read  such  tenderness 
and  pity  in  them— he  seemed  to  foreknow  all  the  trouble 
and  sorrow  that  awaited  me  in  this  rude  world.  Oh, 
God  help  me — what  right  had  that  man  to  steal  away 
my  peace  of  mind,  to  rob  me  of  the  careless,  light  heart 
I  had !  Knowing  I  had  little  else,  he  might,  at  least, 
have  left  me  this-  -but  he  was  selfish  and  cruel,  like  the 
rest  He  thought  only  of  himsel£" 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

HE  next  day,  at  the  appointed  hour,  Rosa  was 
at  Helena's  door.    The  countess  received  her 
\vith  coldness  of  manner  that  froze  poor  Rosa's 
heart    "I  hope,"  she  began,  timidly,  "I  do 
not  intrude! " 

"  No,  I  am  glad  to  see  you — I  have  looked  forward  to 
your  coming  for  hours ! " 

"  You  are  kind  to  say  so,"  said  Rosa,  looking  up 
into  her  friend's  face.  What  brought,  she  wondered, 
such  marble  pallor  on  that  brow — that  repressed  look,  as 
of  smoldering  fire  ?  What  made  the  features  so  rigid, 
the  eyes  so  empty  of  life  and  light.  Rosa  longed  to  take 
her  hand — to  press  her  lips  to  Helena's  cheek — but  she 
did  not  dare. 

"Will  you  recite  something  for  me ? "  said  Helena. 

"  I  am  afraid ! " 

"  You  must  know  no  fear,  if  you  are  in  earnest  with 
your  scheme.  Are  you  not  to  stand  one  day  face  to  face 
with  an  audience  of  strangers — before  harsh  critics,  and 
zealous  rivals  ?  What  will  become  of  you  if  you  tremble 
then?" 

"  I  should  feel,  at  such  a  crisis,  that  everything  de- 
pended on  self-possession,  and  my  courage  would  rise  to 
the  emergency.  Besides,  I  should  rely  on  the  inspiration 
of  the  moment,  and  forget  my  foolish  self  in  presence  of 


222  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

others  who  had  assembled  to  act  and  suffer  in  sympathy 
with  me." 

"That  was  my  error,"  said  H-lena,  with  a  cold 
smile.  "Yon  ought,  by  no  means,  to  rely  on  the  in- 
spiration of  the  moment.  You  must  trust  to  nothing 
but  your  own  tried  and  disciplined  powers — and  to  your 
thorough  knowledge  of  what  is  called  stage  business. 
You  must  know,  for  instance,  precisely  what  to  do,  as 
well  as  say,  at  every  juncture — where  to  stand,  when  to 
move,  how  to  enter  and  go  off — and  do  all  this  without 
the  least  mistake  or  hesitation  !" 

"  That  would  make  me  a  mere  automaton,"  said  Rosa. 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  would  give  you  the  ease  and  self- 
poise  you  require,  and  when  you  are  no  longer  embar- 
rassed about  little  things,  you  will  lose  your  nervousness, 
and  forget  everything  but  the  emotions  you  would 
express.  Now,  will  you  let  me  hear  you  recite  some- 
thing?" 

"What  shall  I  choose?" 

"Take  Adrienne  Leconvreur! — Begin  with  that  I" 

"Will  you  give  me  my  cues ?"  said  Rosa. 

The  poor  girl  was  trembling  from  head  to  foot.  She 
rose  and  began  the  rdle  of  Adrienne,  but  her  voice  shook, 
and  she  broke  down  after  a  few  words. 

"That  will  not  do  at  all!"  said  Helena,  severely. 
"  Take  the  book,  and  listen  to  me ! " 

In  a  cold,  unemotional  tone  the  countess  began,  and 
Rosa  frit  at  first  a  bitter  disappointment;  the  accent 
was  deliciously  pure,  the  voice  clear  and  sweet;  the 
motions,  by  turns,  imposing  and  graceful,  yet  the  senti- 
ment awakened  in  the  listener  was  rather  admiration 
than  sympathy.  But  suddenly  Helena's  face  lighteiu-d, 


THE    ITALIAN   GIRL.  223 

her  whole  form  quivered,  her  voice  had  gained  quality 
and  volume.  Helena  had  reached  the  lines  where  the 
actress,  to  the  face  of  the  Princess  de  Bouillon,  denouncea 
her  treachery.  Presently  came  the  poison  scene,  where 
Adrienne,  in  her  fever,  thinks  she  sees  the  Comte  de 
Saxe  in  her  rival's  hox  at  the  opera,  hears  them  whisper 
tenderly  together,  sees  them  clasp  one  another's  hands — 
maddened  with  rage  and  jealousy,  she  utters  a  piercing 
scream — then  suddenly  recognizing  Maurice  at  her  side, 
falls  weeping  into  his  arms  ;  and  then,  in  another  access 
of  delirium,  hurls  her  lover  from  her  with  scorn.  Rosa 
was  electrified — she  pressed  her  hands  over  her  eyes,  "I 
can  see  no  more,"  she  cried,  "it  is  too  dreadful." 

Helena  paused,  her  face  still  luminous  with  the  fervor 
of  her  passion,  but,  in  a  few  moments,  the  excitement 
died  away,  leaving  her  features  inanimate  and  cold. 
Where  now  were  those  varied  emotions  that  had  flamed 
before  Rosa's  eyes — that  whirlwind  of  jealousy  and  love  ? 

"  You  inspired  me,"  said  Helena,  "  now  let  me  inspire 
yon!" 

Rosa  took  the  countess's  place,  and  repeated  the  same 
lines.  "Too  tame!"  said  Helena.  "Your  elocution  is 
accurate,  and  your  taste  excellent,  but  you  want  fervor. 
Ah,  that  is  better !  That  is  well !  You  have  caught  it 
now — from  me,"  she  murmured,  "  but  you  will  fill  the 
part  better  than  I  could,  for  you  are  younger!  You  will 
make  a  beautiful  Adrienne !  "  she  said,  as  Rosa  finished 
tne  rdle.  "You  have  all  the  material,  as  artists  say,  that 
I  could  wish  to  work  with — to-morrow  you  shall  study 
this  part  at  home ;  and,  when  you  study,  decipher  the 
several  passions  that  enter  into  the  piece,  and  then  con- 
ceive them  in  action ;  consider  the  youth  of  the  heroine, 


224  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

and  the  ideal  tinge  of  the  affection  which  she  first  feels 
for  her  young  admirer;  follow  the  deepening  of  her  pas- 
sion when  in  him  she  discovers  the  hero  of  her  dreams, 
Maurice  de  Saxe  ;  then  comprehend  her  agony,  when  she 
believes  that  a  bold,  bad  woman,  but  of  splendid  rank, 
having  wealth  and  position,  which  Adrienne  has  not,  has 
seduced  her  lover  from  her — that  Maurice  has  betrayed 
her  for  the  princess  !  And,  finally,  ponder  the  incidents 
and  the  situations  of  the  piece — the  faded  flowers  she 
had  given  him  returned,  as  if  in  scorn  ;  the  deadly  per- 
fume she  inhales  when  she  presses  them  fondly  to  her 
lips ;  and,  finally,  her  delirium  and  death.  And  when 
you  meditate  these  things,  my  child,  ask  yourself  con- 
tinually how  you  would  have  acted  placed  in  such  fearful 
straits — decreed  to  such  a  d.-stiny.  In  this  way  you  may 
compass  at  last  the  supreme  aim  of  art — the  truthful  ex- 
pression of  great  passions,  escaping,  at  once,  both  of 
those  vulgar  errors,  over-acting,  and  frigid  declamation. 
Do  not  forget,  my  child,  that  a  veritable  tragedy  does 
not  attempt  to  portray  the  lives  and  feelings  of  ordinary 
men,  that  they  are  exceptional  natures  which  the  chief 
persons  of  such  a  drama  reveal,  and  that  exceptional 
natures  suffer  with  peculiar  intensity  which,  perhaps, 
no  outward  expression  can  ever  adequately  reveal." 

""What  do  people  mean  when  they  talk  of  ranting — 
what  is  that  ?  "  said  Rosa. 

"  Ranting  is  not  precisely  over-acting,  but  rather,  false 
elocution,  an  exaggerated  utterance  of  feelings,  in  them- 
selves genuine.  In  the  lines  of  a  master,  heroes  and 
heroines  do  not  rave  and  shriek  like  maniacs.  In  the 
midst  of  their  delirium  they  preserve  a  sort  of  delicacy 
which  engages  sympathy,  and  although  the  whole  picture 


THE    ITALIAN   GIRL.  225 

may  fill  you  with  horror,  it  does  not  excite  disgust.  You 
read  English,  Kosa — study  Hamlet's  address  to  the 
players ! " 

"  I  will,"  said  Rosa ;  "  fortunately  I  have  a  copy  of 
Shakspeare's  plays,  which/'  she  added,  with  a  little  blush, 
"a.  friend  in  New  York  gave  me." 

The  countess  observed  the  tell-tale  color  come  and  go 
on  Rosa's  cheek. 

"  A  foe,  rather  than  a  friend,  I  fear,"  she  said,  with  an 
icy  smile. 

"  I  know  not  which  he  was,"  returned  Rosa,  quickly. 
"  By  what  touchstone,  signora,  shall  one  discern  friends 
from  foes  ?  " 

"Friends  !"  said  Helena,  with  bitterness — "a  woman 
has  no  friends!  Hpr  own  sex,"  she  continued,  in  hard, 
dry  tones,  "  her  own  sex  smile  on  her,  and  would  joyfully 
destroy  her  charms  while  they  smile;  men  hate  her,  if 
she  accepts  their  love,  and  they  hate  her  still  more  if  she 
returns  it,  for  the  ennui  and  satiety  that  surely  overtake 
thorn;  or,  if  their  souls  are  exceptionally  loyal,  vouchsafe 
perhaps  some  careless  pity,  and  fitful  remorse.  When, 
however,  woman's  youth  is  gone,  and  the  lustre  of  her 
beauty  faded,  when  death  stands  ready  to  fold  her  in 
his  sombre  shadow,  when  she  can  love  no  more  as  she 
once  loved,  suffer  no  more  as  it  was  hers  to  suffer — yes, 
then,  when  such  professions  bind  to  nothing,  and  evoke 
nothing,  some,  may  be  heard  to  say,  '  I  am  her  friend ! ' " 

"Then,"  said  Rosa,  sadly,  "you  do  not  belieye  in 
love?" 

A  fierce  light  gleamed  from  Helena's  eyes,  as  she  an- 
swered: "Love?— Ah,  yes,  I  believe  in  love!     It  is  the 
one  faith  I  have — a  faith  in  the  reality  of  love.    What  is 
10* 


226  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

love,  you  ask?  A  consuming,  deathless  flame;  an  agony 
of  the  soul,  comprehending  all  pangs  of  doubt,  all  mar- 
tyrdoms of  self-devotion,  all  stings  of  jealousy,  all  har- 
rowing fears,  a  wakeful  ness  that  is  one  long  torture — a 
loneliness  that  means  despair.  Lonely — for  love,  in  ita 
genuine  intensity,  is  almost  never  returned  in  kind,  but 
las'ished  on  some  object  irresponsive,  or  unworthy,  too 
frigid,  or  too  mean.  Believe  me,  Eosa,  this  is  love ! " 

Rosa  breathed  a  low  sigh.  "  Yes,  Rosa,"  continued  the 
countess,  "  young  as  you  are,  it  is  well  you  should  know 
it — this  is  love! — I  show  it  you  as  it  is — I  strip  the  mask 
from  his  hideous  features,  for  it  is  better  you  should  read 
them  now,  than  live  to  learn  them  after  love  has  beguiled 
you  of  your  reason  and  robbed  your  life  of  sunshine. 
Trust  no  one,  Rosa — no  living  man  !  While  you  are  yet 
in  his  arms,  your  husband  will  begin  to  tire  of  you.  By 
scorn,  you  may  kindle  passion  in  the  hearts  of  men,  but 
let  one  spark  of  affection  glimmer  in  your  own  breast, 
and  in  that  hour  you  will  be  scorned  in  turn.  I  speak 
bitterly,  but  truly;  not  as  one  who,  smitten  with  leprosy, 
would  disfigure  with  its  loathsome  scales  a  smo.other 
and  fairer  skin,  but  as  she  who,  having  passed  over  t'.e 
dark  waters,  would  stretch  forth  to  you  a  sister's  hand. 
I  have  said  so  much,  my  child,  because  I  feel  for  you  a 
sympathy  I  did  not  think  I  could  feel  for  any  one." 

"I  do  not  accept  your  creed — I  will  not,"  cried  Rosa, 
her  face  glowing  with  emotion.  "  Love  exists  to  bless,  not 
to  curse  us!  Yes,  and  there  is  mutual  love!  Love  is 
not  a  mistake,  because  often  mistaken.  The  river's 
breast,  signora,  by  the  law  of  its  nature,  n  fleets  all  that 
crosses  its  surface  ;  certainly,  false  faces  may  be  mirrored 
there — clouds  shroud  it  in  darkness — deadly  nightshade 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  227 

blooms  along  its  banks — yet  the  waters  remain  clear  and 
wholesome,  fit  to  meet  God's  eye — to  glass  the  moonlight 
and  the  stars  1  In  Love's  paradise,  if  the  raven  croaks, 
a  nightingale  will  sing  to-morrow ;  if  there  are  worms, 
there  are  gorgeous  butterflies — serpents  perhaps,  but 
eagles  also  !  And  so,  if  false  love  lurks  beneath  a  hundred 
masks,  true  love,  likewise,  is  protean,  and  burns  unsus- 
pected in  many  a  heart  with  a  holy  and  perpetual,  flame ! " 
Helena's  eyes  were  bent  on  her  young  companion  in  a 
lingering  gaze,  where  tenderness  blended  with  compas- 
sion. She  longed  to  fold  her  in  her  arms,  to  shield  and 
save  her  if  she  might,  as  Niobe  would  have  shielded  from 
the  fatal  bolt  her  last  surviving  darling.  But  she  re- 
pressed the  longing,  and,  turning  her  head,  half  whis- 
pered, "Myself!  myself!  As  if  a  flower  had  blossomed 
from  the  stem  where  one  died  yesterday.  Thus,  then, 
rolls  on  forever  the  great  cycle  of  life — eternal  hope — 
eternal  disenchantment !  It  is  her  destiny,  as  it  was 
mine.  But  first  the  world  shall  recognize  her  genius — 
they  shall  come  to  look  at  this  protege  of  mine,  and 
proclaim  her  the  fit  pupil  of  au  artist  who  gave  tlu  ;n 
back  more  than  she  had  borne  away.  I  feel  no  jealousy 
of  her,  no  envy — alas,  how  could  I  ?  If  men  offered  to 
my  thirsty  lips  a  draught  which  I  knew  was  poisoned,  I 
should  be  moved  with  pity,  not  with  jealousy,  to  see 
another's  hand  stretched  forth  to  grasp  the  cup.  What 
is  there  for  a  loyal  friend  to  do  but  shulder  and  cry 
forbear — then,  if  she  puts  her  lips  to  the  cup,  no  sin  can 
be  imputed  to  me."  She  started,  for  Eosa's  eyes  were 
fastened  on  the  countess's  face  with  child-like  confidence 
and  love.  She  returned  her  look  with  a  glance  of  ten- 
derness, and  went  on  in  a  quiet  voice : 


228  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

"Rosa,  would  you  like  to  live  with  me  ?  In  that  way 
I  could  guide  your  studies  constantly." 

"Like  it  ?"  cried  Rosa;  "  I  should  be  eternally  grate- 
ful 1" 

"I  might  be  a  protection  to  you,"  continued  Helena. 

"  You  would  be  everything  to  me,"  said  Rosa,  raising 
the  countess's  hand  to  her  lips. 

"  And  yet,  one  day,"  said  Helena,  "  you  may  be  the 
teacher,  I  perhaps  the  pupil  I " 

"  Never ! "  said  Rosa. 

It  was  agreed  then  that  her  young  protege  was  to  live 
under  the  countess's  roof.  Rosa  fancied  that  with  every 
breath  she  drew  in  that  fine  atmosphere,  she  must  inhale 
inspiration,  for  in  the  hours  she  had  spent  with  Helena, 
life  seemed  a  new  and  lovely  thing.  Every  gesture  and 
attitude,  every  vibration  of  Helena's  voice,  had  been  to 
her  youthful  friend  a  surprise  and  study.  Rosa  felt  as 
an  eager-hearted  tyro  might,  led  from  the  blank,  plas- 
tered walls  of  his  dull  home,  to  rooms  rich  with  the 
works  of  the  great  masters.  Nor  would  it  be  a  small 
gain  to  the  countess  to  watch  this  fresh  young  life, 
ripening  and  blending  with  her  own,  to  find  at  last 
something  that  would  rouse  her  energies,  and  give  her 
some  interest  in  living.  But  she  had  not  thought  of 
herself;  she  had  asked  Rosa  to  come  to  her  for  li".-;us 
sake,  knowing  that  she  could  afford  the  protection 
essential  to  a  young  and  lonely  girl. 

Rosa  had  taken  up  her  abode  in  the  Palazzo  Doria. 
There  she  bloomed  like  a  fresh  slip  grafted  on  the  old 
I)  -ria  trunk,  her  young  voice  filling  the  long  corridors, 
and  her  sweet  face  gleaming  from  the  windows,  the 
cynosure  of  many  an  admiring  glance  from  the  street 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  229 

below.  Now,  for  the  first  time  in  years,  two  female  forms 
were  to  be  seen  seated  by  moonlight  in  the  garden,  close 
to  the  statue  of  the  great  Andrea,  sculptured  as  Neptune 
— for  was  he  not  the  god  of  Italian  seas  ?  There  they 
communed  late  into  the  night,  watching  the  summer 
sky,  or  looking  across  the  spacious  haven  to  the  point 
where  Doria's  galleys  had  once  been  moored.  In  that 
elder  time,  the  pleasaunce  would  have  rung  on  such 
evenings  with  the  mirth  of  chatelaines,  and  men-at-arms, 
but  they  were  a  quiet  pair  who  mused  there  now,  and 
one  of  those  women  might  well  have  been  mistaken  for 
some  garden  statue,  but  for  her  white  gown's  fluttering 
in  the  southern  breeze.  While  one,  however,  sat  im- 
passive, the  other  flitted  to  and  fro,  as  if  she  held 
converge  with  the  birds  and  flowers.  It  was,  inded,  a 
charming  place  and  hour;  the  breeze  blew  soft  and 
fragrant  from  orange  groves  ;  the  ocean  surged  gently  to 
the  shore,  rolling  its  lung,  green  waves  on  the  garden's 
rocky  foot,  while  the  pale  moonlight,  half  revealed,  half 
transfigured  the  landscape  round  them,  and  the  nightin- 
gale, Italy's  laureate,  flooded  the  air  with  rneloily.  Amid 
such  a  scene,  Kosa,  forgetting  everything  but  the  sensa- 
tion of  the  moment,  would  stretch  forth  her  arms  in 
rapture  and  exclaim,  "  Divine  Italy!" 

As  they  sat  thus  one  night — "  Who,"  said  Rosa,  "  that 
has  dwelt  in  this  lovely  land  can  marvel  immortal  verse 
should  be  sung  within  its  borders,  or  that  Raphael  and 
Leonardo  should  inform  canvas  with  celestial  beauty, 
when  in  just  such  scenes  as  this  th«/y  dreamed  they  saw 
Heaven  opened,  and  the  faces  of  Jesus  and  his  mother 
revealed.  What  wonder  is  it  if  man  is  milder  here,  and 
his  lips  attuned  more  easily  to  words  of  gentleness  and 


230  THE    ITALIAN   GIRL. 

love — nor,  for  my  part,  can  I  .think  it  strange,  or  shame- 
ful, that  men  should  shun  warfare  and  death,  where  the 
humblest  has  so  much  to  live  for." 

"Yes,"  said  Helena;  in  a  hollow  voice,  "beauty,  and 
love  that  is  born  of  beauty,  have  wrought  the  ruin  of 
Italy.  The  t'icile  delight  of  every  sense — the  soft  luxury 
of  living — has  rotted,  like  a  cancer,  the  fibres  of  our 
national  character.  Had  man  been  less  happy,  he  might 
have  risked  life  more  freely  in  defense  of  his  country 
and  his  home.  Where  outward  circumstances  are  less 
agreeable,  the  affections  must  needs  be  centred  on  the 

o  ' 

pleasures  of  the  heart,  and  men  like  the  Switzers,  who 
have  little  to  lose  but  their  own  self-respect,  have  proved 
themselves  the  best  soldiers  in  Europe.  God  made  fair 
the  Italian  fields,  but  man  has  sown  thick  the  evil  seed 
of  self-indulgence,  and  must  reap  the  harvest—  death. 
Death,  moral  and  social  to-day,  and  as  sure  as  the  grave 
awaits  the  coffin,  political  death  to-morrow!  Religion 
languishes  among  us,  the  lamp  of  faith  dies  out  unteuded 
in  this  land  of  the  sun.  Amid  vines  and  flowers  our 
people  lie  basking  in  the  sunshine,  heedless  of  the  storm 
which  already  lowers  along  the  horizon." 

"Speak  not  so  sadly,  signora  !  The  king  may  yet 
mend  his  ways! — His  eyes  may  yet  be  opened  to  the 
people's  shame,  and  the  high  miss  on  of  the  House  of 
Savoy  1  The  next  generation  of  Italians  may  grow  up 
strong  and  brave  to  strike,  when  the  hour  comes,  for  our 
country's  freedom ! " 

"There  is  but  one  baptism  to  cleanse  the  children  of 
Italy,  and  that,"  said  Helena,  "  is  the  baptism  of  their 
own  blood.  Nothing  short  of  that  can  regenerate  them 
now.  Too  much  has  been  done  for  them  by  others, 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  231 

while  Italians  reclined  beneath  their  olives,  and  let  the 
fruit  fall  into  their  mouths.  Ev  n  Venice,  my  beloved, 
wept  away  her  strength,  until  her  arm  lacked  force  to 
fling  off  a  sundered  chain.  I  tell  you,  Italians  are  but 
shadows,  and  Italy  but  a  lovely  mausoleum." 

"For  my  part,"  said  Eosa,  "1  do  not  think  it  a  tomb 
at  all,  but  a  beautiful  garden — the  garden  of  Armida, 
full  of  enchantments  and  bewildering  delights." 

"  Repeat  something  from  Alfieri,"  said  Helena,  inter- 
rupting her;  "you  must  keep  yourself  in  constant 
ex -rcise,  but  you  have  not  worked  more  than  one  hour 
to-day — that  was  very  wrong." 

Eosa  recited  in  a  low,  saddened  tone,  happily  modu- 
lated to  the  place  and  hour,  the  part  of  Virginia. 
Helena's  eye  dilated  as  she  listened. 

"  That  is  well,  very  well ! "  she  said,  as  Eosa  ceased. 
"  You  gave  it  all  the  expression  I  could  wish ;  the  piece 
is  full  of  sentiment,  but  it  lacks  fire — it  is  a  maiden's 
story — a  maiden  who  sees,  for  the  first  time,  her  face 
mirrored  in  the  waters  of  life,  whose  next  wave  sweeps 
into  eternity  the  vision  and  the  maid." 

"  May  I  enter  ?  "  asked  a  voice  in  Italian. 

Helena  started  to  her  feet,  and  her  face  looked  to  Eosa 
a  shade  paler  even  than  usual,  as  she  said — "  "Who  is  it  ?  " 

A  tall,  handsome  young  man  was  standing  on  the 
other  side  of  the  iron  grating  which  let  into  the  garden. 

"  May  I  come  in  ? "  he  rep  ^ated.  "  Yes,  although  over 
this  gate  be  written,  'All  hope  abandon  ye  that  enter 
here,'  still  I  would  enter!" 

"Come  in,  Zanini!"  she  said,  seating  herself  again. 
He  entered.  The  countess  extended  her  left  hand, 
which  he  took  and  pressed  to  his  lips,  but  without  any 


232  THE    ITALIAN   GIRL. 

appearance  of  particular  fervor  or  reverence.  It  looked 
like  a  merely  formal  act  of  homage,  and  Helena  seemed 
to  take  no  note  of  it.  "  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  " 
she  said. 

"It  is  long  since  I  have  seen  yon,"  he  answered,  fixing 
a  pair  of  dark  eyes  upon  her.  "  I  have  I  een  a  rover,  be- 
cause I  knew  no  better  way  to  while  away  time.  Since 
yon,  signora,  robbed  the  world  of  your  light,  we  poor 
moths  have  fluttered  in  the  darkness  as  best  we  might. 
To-night  I  found  your  gate  open,  and  ventured  in,  there 
was  music  above — and  music  b?low  I "  he  said,  glancing 
at  Rosa;  "I  listened  for  a  time,  like  an  outcast  spirit  at 
Eden's  gate,  and  when,"  he  added,  laughing,  "I  could 
bear  it  no  longer,  I  cried  out — '  May  I  enter  ?  " 

"This  is  my  pupil!"  said  Helena.  Then,  turning  to 
Eosa,  "Permit  me  to  present  Count  Zanini — an  old 
friend  of  the  Count  Mulaspina."  This  was  the  first 
allusion  to  her  husband  R  >sa  had  ever  heard  from  the 
countess. 

"  A  young  friend,  I  hop?,  you  mean !"  said  the  count. 

Helena  did  not  answer;  her  eyes  seemed  gazing  at 
some  thing  far  away. 

Evidently  the  count  was  a  man  of  the  world ;  his  eye 
dwelt  for  a  moment  on  the  countess,  then  turning,  he 
addressed  Rosa.  "Your  voice  fell  so  sweetly  on  the 
night  air,  that  it  seems  the  birds,  no  less  than  I,  have 
stopped  to  listen." 

"Oh,  they  were  fast  asljep,  poor  little  things,  long 
ago  ! "  said  Rosa. 

*'  Can  anything  sleep  on  such  a  night  ?  "  he  said,  giving 
Rosa  a  lingering  look,  as  if  he  were  studying  her  beauty 
in  that  mellow  moonlight,  and  sought  to  grave  it  in  his 


THE    ITALIAN   GIRL.  233 

mind.  Eosa  felt  that  his  eyes  were  upon  her,  and  cast 
down  her  own.  For  some  moments  they  sat  in  silence, 
broken  only  by  the  murmur  of  the  fountain. 

At  length — "  Do  you  like  our  Italy  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  like  my  Italy!"  Eo?a  answered. 

"  Oh,  I  fancied  you  were — " 

"  An  American  ?  "  said  Eosa. 

The  count  laughed.  "No,  signorina!  one  could  hardly 
make  that  mistake.  \V:ien  you  know  me  better,  you 
will  scarcely  accuse  me  of  such  stupidity.  I  cannot  say 
precisely  what  country  I  gave  you  On  the  whole,  I 
leaned  to  Circassia — or  Cashmere." 

Eosa  smiled — "  Are  you  an  Italian  ?  " 

''You  might  return  my  compliment  in  kind,"  he  re- 
plied, "and  liken  me  to  an  Arab,  or  a  negro,  if  you  please 
— my  skin  is  dark  enough  to  warrant  it." 

"  I  cannot  tell  whether  it  is  you  or  the  night  that  is 
dark,"  said  Eosa,  "  but  I  have  guessed  your  nation  by 
your  tongue." 

"  My  tongue  is  not  Genoese!" 

"No,  your  accent  proves  that,  signer!  Yours  is  the 
true  Lingua  Toscaua  in  bocca  Eomana  1 " 

"You  are  right,  but  how  you  guessed  it,  I  know 
not." 

"  By  my  ear,  of  course.  I  should  not  be  a  genuine 
Italian,  if  I  could  not  distinguish  the  Tuscan  speech. 
When  you,  on  your  part,"  she  added,  gayly,  repeating 
his  own  words,  "  know  me  better,  you  will  not  accuse 
me,  either,  of  such  stupidity." 

"I  could  accuse  you  of  nothing,  save — "  he  paused, 
then  continued,  in  a  low  voice,  "save  a  too  fatal  beauty." 
Eosa  turned  away  her  head. 


234  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

"Hardly  fatal!"  said  Helena,  coldly,  "for  she  is  good 
as  she  is  fair ! " 

The  count  and  Rosa  started.  Both  had  forgotten  the 
countess's  presence. 

"I  cannot  doubt  it,"  said  the  count,  again  fixing  his 
eyes  on  the  young  girl,  "you  presented  her  as  your 
pupil — may  I  ask  what  you  are  teaching  the  signorina  ?  " 

"  To  distrust  every  one — to  put  faith  in  nothing,"  said 
Helena.  "  Is  it  not  the  best  of  lessons  ?  " 

"It  is  a  lesson,  signora,  which,  with  all  my  heart,  I 
hope  she  may  not  easily  learn." 

"Men  do  well  to  hope  so!  "  said  Helena,  with  scorn. 
"  Such  lessons  of  truth  forestall  and  thwart  them ! " 

"  You  were  not  used  to  be  so  severe,"  he  said,  in  a 
lowered  voice;  then,  in  an  ordinary  tone,  "Pray  do  not 
deny  me  the  privilege  of  taking  you  and  your  young 
friend  to  drive  at  an  early  day  ?  We  might  go  as  far  as 
Peglie,  and  dine  there." 

"You  may  come  if  you  choose;  I  have  no  right  to  in- 
terfere with  the  signorina's  amusement.  But  beware  ! " 
she  added,  with  a  cold  glitter  in  her  eyes — "  Beware  how 
you  abuse  my  good  nature !  Good-night !  "  she  said, 
rising,  "  I  shall  go  in  now  !  The  signorina  Thornton,  I 
presume,  unless  she  means  to  prolong  her  tete-a-tete  with 
you,  count,  will  accompany  me."  Rosa  bowed  to  the 
count,  and  followed  Helena. 

Zanini  watched  them  until  their  white  dresses  had 
disappeared,  then  drawing  a  deep  breath,  "  She  is  as 
beautiful,"  he  cried,  "as  the  star-lit  sky — I  love  her!" 
Then,  turning,  left  the  garden. 

When  the  ladies  had  reached  the  main  ante-chamber 
of  the  palace,  Rosa  took  up  her  candle,  and  prepared  to 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  235 

go  to  her  room,  when,  stopping  suddenly,  she  flung  her 
arms  around  the  countess's  neck. 

"  Do  not  speak  to  me,  dear  signora,  as  you  did  just 
now;  it  was  dreadful !" 

"I  hate  them  all  I"  said  Helena,  her  face  darkening 
as  she  spoke. 

"  Then  do  not  see  him  again  !  We  will  not  drive  with 
him!" 

"No,  you  must  have  change  of  air  and  scene  ;  I  am 
not  half  so  cruel  as  I  seem;  good-night  1 w 


CHAPTER  XVTL 

"N"  the  next  Tuesday  morning  the  sun  rose  in 
un dimmed  splendor.  Rosa  could  not  help 
looking  forward  with  pleasure  to  the  promised 
excursion  to  Peglie.  At  noon,  a  carriage — not 
the  count's  own — drew  up  before  the  door.  His  tact  had 
suggested  to  him  that  a  plain  equipage  would  expose  the 
ladies  to  less  remark,  and  he  had  written  a  line  to  Helena, 
engaging  to  meet  them  at  the  Peglie  Gardens,  proceeding 
thither  himself  at  an  easier  hour  to  transact  some 
business  in  that  quarter.  Helena  understood  very  well 
what  he  meant,  and  felt  grateful  for  the  delicicy  of  his 
conduct  The  ladies  set  off  presently,  Rosa  little  dream- 
ing what  the  countess  had  done  for  her  snke,  in  breaking 
away  so  completely  from  the  normal  routine  of  her  life. 
Since  the  death  of  her  husband,  Helena  had  shut  her- 
self up  from  the  world,  and  gone  absolutely  nowhere, 
never  parsing  the  palace  gates,  except  at  twilight,  on 
some  errand  of  mercy  to  the  sick  or  poor. 

The  drive  to  Peglie  proved  very  pleasant,  the  road 
winding  along  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean,  while  on 
the  other  hand,  orange  groves,  whose  dark  green  foliage 
was  now  thick-studded  with  the  golden  fruit,  girt  palace ' 
and  villa  with  their  fragrant  shade.  The  breeze  was 
blowing  soft  from  the  south,  and  the  sea  breaking  in 
long  emerald  ripples  on  the  rocky  shore.  Helena  and 
Rosa  watched  it  in  silence. 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRT..  £37 

As  the  carriage  drew  up  before  the  Peglie  Palace, 
Zunini  came  forward  to  meet  them,  and  assisting  them 
from  the  coach,  thanked  them  warmly  for  accepting  his 
invitation. 

"  Thank  you !"  said  Helena,  in  her  deep  tones,  with  a 
searching  glance,  as  the  count  oifered  her  his  arm. 
Zaniui  understood  her.  He  saw  that  she  had  recog  lized 
and  approved  the  sacrifice  he  had  made  in  allowing  them 
to  come  alone,  and  his  face  beamed  with  pleasure. 

They  passed  under  the  great  portal  into  the  Palavacini 
Garden.  Before  them,  burnished  by  the  sunlight, 
stretched  forth  in  every  direction  paths  of  enameled 
green,  hedged  on  either  side  by  rose-trees.  These  wound 
around  into  an  enchanting  bower,  which,  thickly  trellised 
with  vines,  completely  shut  out  the  sun's  rays.  Into  this 
cool,  shaded  retreat  our  party  entered,  when  suddenly, 
as  if  by  magic,  played  on  their  heads  the  most  delicate 
and  fragrant  of  April  showers,  whose  drops  glistened 
like  diamonds  on  the  trembling  leaves. 

"It  is  raining!"  cried  Rosa,  putting  out  her  hand, 
"and  there  are  lovely  little  rainbows  all  over  the  bower. 
How  pretty ! " 

"I  fear  your  dresses  may  be  injured,"  said  Zanini. 

"Oh,  no!  It  is  so  soft  and  sweet!"  and  even  as  she 
spoke  the  rain  ceased. 

"  Is  it  the  work  of  fairies  ?  "  said  Rosa.  "  If  one  might 
imagine  a  shower  in  heaven,  wetting  the  angels'  wings, 
it  would  be  like  this ! " 

Zanini  gave  Rosa  a  look  which  made  her  turn  away 
as  he  said,  "It  is  far  from  difficult  for  me  to  imagine 
such  a  picture,  having  an  instance  before  my  eyes.  Are 
there  not  two  angels  here  ?  " 


238  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

"  Who,  believe  me,  will  make  good  use  of  their  wings 
if  you  talk  such  nonsense,  Zanini,"  said  the  countess. 

She  rose,  and  they  followed  her  back  through  those 
serpentine  paths,  until  they  arrived  at  a  beautiful  porch 
which  formed  the  entrance  to  a  grotto.  From  the  roof, 
countless  stalactites  depended  in  delicate  spiral  shapes, 
while  below  were  columns  and  colonnades  formed  of  the 
same  crystals.  These  stalactites  had,  of  course,  been 
brought  from  a  great  distance ;  they  had  been  arranged 
with  artistic  skill,  and  the  water  dripping  through  the 
limestone  roof  had  begun  to  mingle  with  the  lime,  and 
create  rival  formations  of  its  own.  Helena  had  often 
to  bend  her  stately  head  to  pass  under  the  numerous 
arches,  and  sometimes  could  not  refuse  the  assistance  of 
Zanini's  hand.  At  such  times  it  was  his  privilege  to  hold' 
Rosa's  hand  also  for  an  instant  in  his  own.  He  would 
look  down  at  it,  and  did  not  fail  to  see  how  small  and 
beautiful  it  was. 

As  they  emerged  from  the  further  end  of  this  grotto, 
they  came  on  a  tiny  lake,  and  floating  swan-like  on  its 
breast,  a  graceful  boat,  painted  white  and  gold.  In  the 
stern,  waiting  to  receive  them,  stood  the  boatman,  in 
his  white  blouse. 

"  If  this  is  Charon,"  said  Zanini,  "he  seems  in  a  blithe- 
some mood,  as  if  expecting  the  spirits  of  the  blessed.  I 
wish  he  might  ferry  us  to  the  happy  isles.'* 

They  stepped  into  the  barge,  and  were  rowed  by  their 
cheerful  Charon  across  the  lake,  which  dimpled  merrily 
in  the  sunlight,  under  the  strokes  of  his  gilt-tipped  oars. 

They  glided  beneath  a  suspension  bridge,  then  wound 
along  the  shore  under  waving  boughs,  so  close  that  Rosa 
put  out  her  hand  to  grasp  them  as  they  passed.  Land- 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  239 

ing  at  a  little  pier  of  white  marble,  they  bade  their 
boatman  farewell,  and  traversing  a  garden  rich  with 
variegated  flowers,  they  came  to  a  pavilion,  where 
Victor  Emmanuel's  queen  had  once  taken  tea  with  the 
Countess  of  Palavacini.  Dotted  here  and  there  about 
the  garden,  might  be  seen  through  the  glass  doors  of 
this  pavilion,  statues  of  Flora  and  Pomona,  holding  forth 
tempting  baskets  of  fruits  and  flowers. 

"  It  is  lovely  as  a  dream ! "  exclaimed  Eosa,  "  a  dream 
one  would  never  awake  from  ! " 

"Do  you  remember  when  I  first  had  the  honor  of 
making  your  acquaintance?"  said  Zanini,  addressing 
Helena,  '*  Never,  since  then,  have  I  ceased  to  associate 
this  place  with  yon.  You  were  standing  just  there ;  the 
Countess  Palavacini,  I  remember,  was  helping  you  to 
sherbet ;  Malaspina  was  near  you,  and  turning  to  me,  with 
a  smile,  he  said,  *  This  is  my  wife,  Zanini.'  "  Helena 
rose,  and  moved  toward  the  door.  Zanini  turned  to  Rosa, 
"I  thought  her  the  loveliest  woman,"  he  continued,  lower- 
ing his  voice,  "  I  had  then  seen.  Poor  Malaspina!  He 
died  young.  It  is  natural  she  should  mourn  for  him ; 
he  was  a  most  engaging  man !  A  little  of  a  skeptic, 
perhaps,  but  a  model  of  physical  beauty.  His  features,  to 
be  sure,  might  have  been  thought  effeminate,  but  his 
figure  was  superb.  They  could  have  called  him,  as  they 
did  Leonardo,  the  handsomest  man  of  his  time — poor 
Malaspina!" 

At  this  moment  the  countess  turned,  and  Rosa  re- 
marked that  her  face  was  deadly  pale,  and  so  rigid,  that 
her  lips  seemed  to  move  with  difficulty,  as  she  eaid — 
"  Let  us  go  on  !"  They  left  the  pavilion,  and,  passing 
over  the  little  bridge  which  spanned  the  lake,  were  again 


240  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

overtaken  in  the  middle  of  it  by  a  soft  shower.  This 
seemed  meant  for  their  special  benefit — for  beyond,  the 
eun  shone  unclouded,  and  no  rain  was  to  be  seen. 

"  There  are  spirits  here — I  was  sure  of  it  1 "  said  Kosa, 
"  it  rains,  and  it  does  not  rain  !  " 

"  These,"  said  Zanini,  "  are  called  the  garden  jests ;  I 
was  once  here  with  a  large  party,  when  the  same  trick 
was  played  upon  the  queen." 

"  Was  she  not  annoyed  at  the  damage  done  her  dress  ?  " 

"Not  at  all!  She  was  always  very  plainly  attired. 
She  merely  laughed  as  you  did  just  now,  and  put  out  her 
hand  to  feel  the  spray." 

"Was  the  queen  beautiful?  "  asked  Rosa. 

"  She  was  both  good  and  fair — a  combination,"  said 
Zanini,  laughing,  "  which  we  cold  men  of  the  south  rate 
higher  than  mere  beauty.  Our  sovereign,"  he  continued, 
"  is  famous  for  this  sort  of  moralizing ! " 

"  She  was  more  fortunate  than  most  women,"  said 
Helena,  gravely,  "  in  that  her  broken  heart  brought  with 
it  death." 

"I  learn,  for  the  first  time,"  said  Zanini,  with  a  smile, 
"  that  a  broken  he-art  is  a  proof  of  happiness." 

"You  misconstrue  me;  I  said,  when  it  brought  deaf-h  !" 

"  Poor  creature!  "  pursued  Zanini ;  "the  king  tortured 
her  with  his  Countess  of  Millefiori.  Had  it  been  a 
veritab'e  countess,  the  queen  might  have  borne  the 
slight,  but  it  was  indeed  grievous  to  one  of  royal  blood 
to  find  a  rival  in  the  daughter  of  a  drum-major — a  sort 
of  vivandiure." 

"  Oh,  the  king!"  said  Helena,  scornfully.  "  The  king 
does  not  deserve  we  should  waste  our  breath  on  him.  I 
luite  him  ! " 


THE    ITALIAN   GIRL.  241 

"You  hate  lightly,  signora!  The  king  is  a  gallant 
man — brave  as  a  lion,  and  as  true  as  steel !" 

Her  lips  curled.  "  Let  us  talk  no  more  of  him  ! "  she 
eaid. 

"  To  hear,  is  to  obey,"  said  the  count,  and,  with  a  lo\v 
bow,  led  the  way  out  of  the  garden. 

In  a  restaurant,  hard  by,  a  table,  spread  for  dinner, 
awaited  them.  It  was  garnished  with  fruits  and  flowers, 
and  presented  the  most  delicote  viands.  The  wine  was 
old,  and  gleamed  like  molten  gold  through  the  thin 
Vmetian  glass.  Affer  their  long  walk,  all  were  suffici- 
ently glad  of  refreshment.  To  Rosa's  eyes,  everything 
looked  tempting,  and  even  Helena  could  not  but  com- 
mend the  exquisite  taste  which  had  presided  over  the 
repast.  The  moon  had  begun  to  silver  the  trees,  when 
they  left  the  table,  and  now  the  countess  seemed  less 
restless  than  she  had  been  during  the  day,  while  Rosa 
was  entirely  happy.  There  was  about  Zanini  the  at- 
mosphere of  a  true  gentleman.  He  had,  indeed,  much 
good  nature,  brought  into  conspicuous  play  by  the  im- 
pulsive traits  of  the  genuine  Italian.  His  manners  were 
vivacious,  but  reverential,  and  his  dark  eyes,  when  he 
addressed  a  woman,  most  expressive.  Rosa  was  still 
very  young,  and  it  was  not  strange  she  should  feel  the 
subtle  charm  of  Zanini's  homage. 

As  he  led  them  to  their  carriage,  he  said,  still  holding 
the  door,  with  a  look  that  was  laughably  piteous — "May 
I  come  in  ?  " 

"  This  is  the  second  time,  within  a  few  days,"  said 
Helena,  "  that  you  have  put  up  that  petition.  Yon  know 
me — I  am  ferocious,  but  not  implacable.    I  cannot  refuse 
you — come  in  1" 
11 


242  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

Zanini  sprang  into  the  coach.  By  the  moonlight  that 
was  now  bathing  the  whole  landscape,  he  might  contrast 
the  two  beautiful  women  who  sat  before  him.  They 
were  silent,  and  he  seized  the  occasion  to  scrutinize  their 
features.  Both  were  pale,  but  the  face  of  the  ountess 
seemed  frozen  by  some  great  grief;  she  looked  a  copy  of 
the  "  Inconsolable,"  and  Rosa  a  sweef,  rounded  Proser- 
pine. Zanini  fancied,  as  he  watched  her  there,  her  lap 
heaped  with  flowers,  that  she  must  have  looked  thus  to 
gloomy  Dis,  when  he  found  her  playing  in  Enna,  and 
gathered  "herself  a  faiivr  flower."  Rosa  felt  that  his 
eyes  were  upon  her,  and  could  not  raise  her  own,  but  the 
countess  heeded  him  not,  for  her  thoughts  had  wandered 
back  to  other  days — days  of  mingled  bliss  and  agony. 
She  had  forgotten  where  she  was,  and  neither  of  the 
three  broke  the  silence  until  the  carriage  drew  up  before 
the  gate  of  the  Doria  Palace. 

"  Have  we  been  asleep  ? "  exclaimed  Zanini,  rubbing 
his  eyes.  "No,  we  have  only  dreamed.  Good-night, 
and  au  revoir  I n 

"  Good-n:ght! "  said  Rosa  to  Helena,  as  they  separated 
for  the  night,  "  I  have  had  a  delicious  day  !  " 

"  Have  you ? "  said  Helena  abstractedly.  "I  am  glad 
if  anything  has  made  you  happy.  Good-night,  Rosa!" 

The  countess  had  marked  out  the  employment  of 
Rosa's  days  for  her.  Our  heroine  breakfasted  alone,  and 
afterward  retired  to  a  tiny  boudoir,  where  she  read  and 
pondered  the  rdles  which  Helena  had  selected  as  bf  st 
suited  to  her.  At  two,  the  countess  joined  her,  when  1 . 
would  recite,  what  she  had  learned,  and  sometimes  lu-ar 
from  Helena's  lips  her  own  conception  of  the  part 
Helena  had  suggested  a  course  of  reading  by  which  her 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  243 

protege  could  not  fail  to  profit.  If  a  particular  role  was 
founded  upon  fact,  Rosa  was  recommended  to  look  up 
everything  in  history,  or  poetry,  which  might,  in  any 
wa}7,  throw  light  on  the  characters,  or  their  times. 
Thus,  AlfieriV tragedies  had  introduced  to  her  Plutarch's 
Lives;  in  order  to  comprehend  Pia  dei  Ptolomei,  she  had 
pored  over  Sismondi's  Republics,  and  in  this  way  fresh 
knowledge  was  continually  unrolled  before  her,  causing 
her  to  thirst  the  more  ardently  for  larger  stores. 

With  the  consciousness  of  self-improvement,  Rosa's 
gratitude  grew  warmer  every  day,  until  she  came  to  re- 
gard the  countess  as  one  of  another  sphere  than  earth ; 
her  genius,  her  loveliness,  her  generous  protection  and 
care,  made  her  almost  an  object  of  worship  to  the  young 
and  ardent  girl.  On  the  other  hand,  Rosa's  companion- 
ship was  as  grateful  to  Helena,  as  rain  to  the  parched 
fields;  she  was  the  one  oasis  in  a  life  which  had  been  all 
desert.  She  bathed,  so  to  speak,  her  way-worn  heart  in 
this  fresh  and  buoyant  nature.  They  always  dined 
together,  and  afterwards  would  stroll  forth  into  the 
gardens,  while  Rosa  prattled  to  her  friend  of  what  she 
had  read  that  day.  At  such  times  Helena  would  beg:n 
to  listen  with  great  attention,  but  presently  her  eyes 
would  wander  to  the  far  horizon,  while  her  spirit  seemed 
communing  with  forms  visible  to  her  gaze  alone. 
Then  Rosa's  voice  would  sink,  her  animation  desert  her, 
and  she  would  rise  and  move  away.  When  thus  aban- 
doned to  her  own  thoughts,  her  favorite  lounging  place 
was  the  balustrade  fringing  the  sea-wall,  which  fenced 
the  garden  from  the  sea.  There  she  spent  many  an  hour, 
hearkening  to  the  rippling  waves,  and  gazing  into  their 
soft  depths.  Not  seldom  of  an  evening  Zanini  would  join 


244  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

them,  and  propose  a  walk  to  Rosa,  or,  perhaps,  a  moon- 
light drive,  and  alsvays  something  that  might  afford  her 
change  of  scene ;  thereupon,  her  fair  face  would  lighten, 
and  reward  him  with  such  a  radiant  smile,  as  but  for 
Helena's  presence  had  sent  the  count  on  his  knees  at  her 
feet.  And  when,  for  some  reason,  he  did  not  come,  Rosa 
found  the  silent  garden,  and  the  twilight  hour,  more  than 
ever  lonely. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said,  one  evening,  as  they  stood  apart 
from  Helena,  who  sat  rapt  in  one  of  her  speechless  rev- 
eries, "  tell  me  something  of  yourself.  Where  did  you 
blossom,  whither  will  you  go  ?  You  seem  to  me  like  a 
fresh  creation,  sprung  from  the  hands  of  som?  Pyg- 
malion!" 

Rosa  bit  her  lips,  and  paused  a  moment,  as  if  medi- 
tatiug  a  reply.  At  length,  she  said,  "  I  will  tell  you 
everything !  You  are  a  noble,  steeped  in  the  prejudices 
of  your  caste,  and  when  you  have  heard  my  hist  >ry,  you 
will  blush  to  know  one  like  me ;  but,"  she  added,  with 
affected  nonchalance,  "the  story  may  amuse  you,  and 
you  have  been  so  kind  to  me,  that  I  owe  you  something 
in  return.  Shall  I  begin,  like  a  child's  book,  at  the  be- 
ginning ?  "Well,  then,  I  was  born  in  the  island  of  Sardinia 
— in  very  humble  circumstances  ;  my  mother  is  a  peu^i'it, 
she  cannot  read  or  write,  or  understand  me  if  I  speak  of 
anything  outside  the  narrow  circle  of  her  daily  life. 
When  she  goes  out,  she  wears  a  k-.Tchief  wound  about 
her  head,  her  feet  are  always  bare.  She  is  hand- 
some still,  one  of  those  picturesque  faces  an  artist  would 
be  glad  to  paint.  My  father,"  her  voice  fell,  and  her 
cheek  grew  a  shade  paler,  "was  different  in  all  things. 
Like  you,  he  was  of  noble  birth — but  not  a  native  of 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  245 

your  country.  When  I  was  a  child,"  she  continued, 
"  I  would  often  run  away  from  home,  for  I  was  not  happy 
in  our  little  hut.  My  mother  had  a  fiery  temper,  and 
frightened  me  with  her  outbursts  of  rage.  Once,  I  re- 
member, when  a  letter  she  expected  was  not  forthcoming, 
ehe  rushed  excitedly  into  the  room  where  I  was,  and 
gathering  up  all  our  garments,  tore  them  to  tatters.  To 
escape  from  such  fits  of  anger  I  used  to  wander  off  to  the 
woods  that  surrounded  our  dwelling,  and,  hiding  there 
all  day,  make  my  dinner  of  berries,  and  drink  the  water 
of  the  brooks.  I  came  to  know  all  the  birds  in  the 
forest;  I  used  to  talk  with  them,  calling  them  my 
brothers,  and  they  would  answer  me  cheerily,  bidding 
me  not  be  lonely.  At  other  times,  I  would  stray  down 
to  the  coast,  and  sit  for  hours,  gazing  inta  the  fathom- 
less ocean.  What  magic  scenes  I  beheld  in  its  glassy 
depths.  In  grottos  of  coral,  fair  mermaids  danced  and 
sang.  They  beckoned  me  to  come  to  them,  they  decked 
me  with  shells  and  jewels  of  the  sea;  in  my  ears  they 
hung  great  emerald  drops,  and  crowned  me  their  queen. 
Much  I  wondered,  when  I  awoke  from  my  pleasant 
dream,  what  had  become  of  my  sweet  playfellows,  and 
stretched  forth  my  arms  —to  find  them  gone  !  But  the 
next  day,  and  the  next,  I  was  sure  to  meet  them  again. 
"One  day,  dreaming  thus,  in  a  favorite  nook,  an  r<:d 
monk  passed  by  the  place  where  I  sat.  He  ask'-d  \\  hat 
I  was  doing,  and  smiling  gravely  at  my  reply,  shouvd 
me  a  missal,  and  bade  me  read  from  it.  I  told  him  I 
could  not  read;  he  promised  to  teach  me.  The  next 
day  he  showed  me  how  to  spell  my  name,  and  after  that 
he  came  every  day,  at  the  same  hour.  I  learned  so 
rapidly,  that  he  presently  gave  me  little  stories  of  the 


246  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

saints  to  read.  These,  he  told  me,  were  truthful  pic- 
tures, while  the  water  was  a  false  mirror;  that  what  I 
thought  I  saw  there,  the  mermaidens,  with  their  stream- 
ing hair  and  belts  of  pearl,  were  snares  and  delusions  to 
ch.  at  my  soul. 

"Suddenly  his  visits  ceased.  Many  days  I  watched  for 
his  coming,  but  one  evening,  as  I  passed  through  a 
neighboring  village,  they  told  me  the  old  monk  was  dead. 
I  had  now  no  friend.  In  my  loneliness  I  went  back  to 
the  sea  shore,  to  find  once  more  my  old  companions.  But 
I  called  the  mermaids  in  vain.  They  never  came  back 
to  me.  Yet,  even  now,  there  are  times  when  I  half  be- 
lieve that  I  roved  with  them  beneath  the  waves,  and  that 
they  played  with  me,  and  loved  me. 

"For  sometime  I  felt  sad  at  my  loneliness,  but  at 
length,  I  made  a  new  acquaintance.  In  a  pasture,  near 
our  cottage,  were  some  horses ;  and  sometimes,  in  the 
early  morning,  when  no  one  was  stirring,  I  ventured  to 
approach  and  speak  to  them.  Among  them  was  one 
noble  animal,  so  gentle,  that  he  would  lot  me  stroke  his 
glossy  mane.  I  soon  came  to  love  him  as  a  friend,  and 
every  morning  would  coax  him,  with  a  bit  of  sugar,  up 
to  the  fence  where  I  stood.  Then  I  would  clamber  on 
his  back,  and  away  we  sped  across  the  fields.  It  was  a 
rude  school,  count,  but  a  good  one,  and  I  became  at  last 
so  expert,  that  I  could  even  ride  him  standing.  Then, 
by  way  of  amusement,  I  began  to  try  various  sorts  of 
exercises.  One  day,  as  I  was  standing  with  crossed  arms 
on  the  back  of  my  docile  horse,  some  unusual  sound 
startled  me,  and  losing  my  balance,  I  sprang  with  a 
scream  to  the  ground.  Peering  over  the  fence,  stood  a 
Btrange  man,  with  a  great  bushy  beard.  He  called  out 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  247 

pleasantly  enough,  and  bade  me  not  be  afraid ;  in- 
stinctively I  clung  to  my  horse's  neck  for  protection. 
Presently  he  climbed  over  the  fence,  and  coming  up  to 
me,  a -kid  where  my  mother  lived,  and  bade  me  come 
with  him  to  look  for  her.  We  found  her  working  in  the 
field  He  went  up  to  her,  and  I  heard  him  tell  her  that 
he  was  the  owner  of  a  great  circus ;  that  he  hud  come  to 
Sardinia  in  search  of  horses;  if  she  liked,  he  gaid,  he 
would  take  me  off  her  hands,  and  make  a  fine  rider  of 
me.  My  mother  asked  how  much  money  he  would  give 
her;  he  offered  five  hundred  francs  down,  and  she — 
she  sold  me,"  said  Rosa,  under  her  breath,  "sold  me 
for  five  hundred  francs  ! 

"  The  man  was  going  to  Genoa,  and  as  my  mother  had 
learned,  somehow,  that  my  father  was  living  there,  she 
determined  to  accompany  us.  "When  we  reached  this 
city,  we  found,  as  he  had  said,  a  large  eircus  stationed 
here,  and  I  was  put  immediately  in  training.  It  was  not 
long  before  I  had  learned  everything  my  master  re- 
quired, and  people  flocked  to  see  me  in  crowds,  proclaim- 
ing me  an  infant  prodigy." 

Rosa  had  tdd  her  tale  thus  far  with  downcast  eyes — 
suddenly  she  raised  them — she  started — "Do  not  fix 
your  eyes  so  steadfastly  upon  me!"  she  said.  "You 
terrify  me!  You  look  like  Macduff,  when  they  brought 
him  the  evil  news!" 

"  I  feel  like  him.     Go  on  ! " 

"  I  rode  every  evening ;  and  every  night — when  all  was 
over,  I  sobbed  myself  to  sleep.  I  was  so  tired,  and  so 
very  lonely ! " 

"  Poor  child,  poor  child  I "  murmured  the  count,  be- 
tween his  closed  teeth. 


218  THE    ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"Not  finding  my  father,  as  she  had  hoped  to  do,  my 
mother  \veut  back  to  Sardinia,  and  soon  after,  my  master^ 
whose  name  was  Cinizelli,  carried  me  to  London,  where 
I  was  placed  in  an  equestrian  school,  under  regular  in- 
struction. At  the  circus,  where  I  continued  to  perform 
nightly,  I  remarked  a  gentleman  who  always  occupied 
the  same  seat.  One  day,  while  I  was  alone  at  my  lodg- 
ings, this  gentleman  entered.  He  questioned  me  most 
minutely  about  my  birth-place,  and  my  mother;  then, 
bidding  me  reveal  to  no  one  who  had  visited  me,  with- 
drew, promising  that  to-morrow  he  would  send  me  as 
beautiful  a  horse  as  ever  walked  the  ring — That  was  my 
father !  The  next  morning  arrived  a  magnificent  horse. 
The  circus  master  laughed,  and  declared  he  knew  where 
it  came  from — I  said  not  a  word.  I  never  met,  or 
talked  with  the  English  gentleman  again.  He  did  not 
miss  a  single  performance.  Generally,  he  was  alone, 
but  once  he  had  a  lady  with  him.  She  was  very  fair, 
and  held  by  the  hand  a  little  golden-haired  boy.  I 
asked  who  the  gentleman  was;  they  told  me — Lord 
Thornton!  and  that  his  constant  patronage  had  been  a 
great  advantage  to  our  circus,  leading  all  the  fashion  of 
the  town  to  visit  us.  By-and-by  we  left  London,  to 
try,  by  turns,  Vienna,  Berlin,  and  St,  Petersburg,  and 
finally,  came  back  to  Paris,  where  I  remained  until  I 
went  to  New  York. 

"  Living  completely  alone — when  not  on  exhibition — 
I  learned  to  think  and  act  for  myself.  I  read  everything  I 
could  lay  my  hands  on,  and  as  I  grew  older,  and  more 
thoughtful,  felt  more  and  more  keenly  the  degradation 
of  my  position,  for  the  books  I  read  revealed  nrw  worlds 
of  thought  and  aspiration.  I  was  a  child,  as  I  told  you, 


THE    ITALIAN   GIRL.  249 

when  they  brought  me  to  Genoa,  but  in  childhood, 
perhaps,  our  memories  are  more  tenacious  tVan  in  later 
life.  At  any  rat",  I  remember  well  the  night—  it  was  a 
Saturday,  and  our  circus  was  closed — when  they  took 
me  to  see  the  then  celebrated  actress,  Helena  Ortc-lli,  in 
Phaedre!  Her  acting  took  complete  posse  s;on  of  my 
imagination — from  that  hour  I  never  ceased  to  dream. 
I  had  strange  visions  of  things  that  were  to  be — of  a 
larger,  nobler  career,  that  would  yet  be  mine.  Such 
visions  grew  and  grew  upon  me,  until,  at  lergth.  aspira- 
tion became  conviction,  and  I  broke  my  bonds,  came 
back  to  my  native  lund,  sought  out  the  countess — and 
thenceforward  my  story  tells  itself — I  am  studying  to  be 
an  actress,  under  her  roof!  How  little  I  once  dreamed 
that  would  ever  be ! — and  she  herself  is  preparing  me 
for  the  stage." 

"  When  do  you  make  your  debut?"  asked  the  count, 
in  great  agitation. 

"Next  winter! — The  countess  thinks  I  shall  then  be 
fully  prepared ! " 

"It  cannot,  it  shall  not  be!"  exclaimed  the  count, 
striding  hastily  away.  Then  coming  back  to  where 
Eosa  stood — "  Do  you  not  shrink  from  it  ?  "  he  said,  with 
violent  emotion. 

"  It  has  been  the  dream  of  my  life,"  she  answered — 
"  the  one  hope  that  beaconed  me  on  through  the  dark- 
ness that  shrouded  my  youth !" 

"What  is  there  in  such  a  career  to  attract  you?" 
cried  the  count,  vehemently.  "Ah,  yes  !  I  forgot — ad- 
miration You  have  grown  up  to  the  sound  of  vulgar 
applause,  and  you  cannot  live  without  it." 

"  It  is  false !  "  said  Eosa,  with  kindling  eyes,  "  I  have 
11* 


250  THE    ITALIAN  GIRL. 

never  once  missed  it,  in  all  this  year  of  repose.  I  have 
never  known  what  it  was  to  long  for  it.  As  the  crown 
of  high  endeavor,  I  should  indeed  desire  applause,  but 
I  only  loathed  it  when  everything  I  did  was  hateful  to 
me.  My  nature  impels,  and  my  heart  prompts  me  to 
become  an  actress.  Like  Cleopatra,"  she  added,  smiling, 
"  I  have  immortal  longings  in  me  ! " 

The  count  turned.  "  Good-evening,"  he  said,  coldly, 
"  I  must  take  my  leave  of  you." 

"  Good  evening ! "  said  Rosa,  looking  up  into  his  face 
— but  her  look  met  no  answer  there. 

Forgetting  even  to  bid  the  countess  good-night, 
Zanini  hurriedly  left  the  garden,  while  poor  Rosa  stood 
rooted  to  the  spot  where  she  had  uttered  her  last  words. 
When,  after  some  moments,  she  roused  herself,  she 
glanced  around — The  garden  looked  desolate  without 
him. 

Presently  the  countess  rose — "It  is  late,"  she  said, 
"  and  the  air  is  chill.  Come  in,  Rosa  I — Where  is  the 
count?" 

"  He  left  us  some  time  ago,  signoral " 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

ITCH  rapid  progress  was  made  by  Rosa  in  her 
studies,  that  Helena  began  to  feel  she  could 
teach  her  nothing  more.  All  she  needed  now 
was  practice,  and  to  hare  her  courage  tested 
by  an  appearance  in  public.  What  Helena  most  dreaded 
for  her  was  an  attack  of  stage  fright,  which  she  knew 
would  be  fatal  to  her  career.  But  Rosa  was  not  self- 
conscious,  and  Helena  relied  confidently  upon  that. 
"  Have  your  part  at  your  fingers'  ends ! "  she  would  often 
impress  on  her  young  friend,  "so  that  you  might  repeat 
it  in  your  sleep,  or  in  the  heat  of  some  tumultuous  ex- 
citement breaking  out  all  around  you — Do  this! — and 
for  the  rest,  I  fear  not ! " 

Since  he  had  heard  Rosa's  story,  Count  Zanini  had 
ceased  to  visit  the  house.  When  she  thought  of  him,  as 
she  did  not  seldom — "  It  is  well,"  Rosa  would  say,  with  a 
bitter  smile — "frankness  is  the  crucible  in  which  we 
test  the  loyalty  of  friends — Is  it  not  true  metal  ? — Let 
it  go !  "  She  remembered  then  Helena's  words,  "  That 
love  existed,  perhaps,  but  never  mutual."  Was  the 
countess  right?  It  were  better  to  die  at  once,  than 
believe  this ! 

"Zanini  has  gone  to  Rome  !"  Helena  said,  abruptly, 
one  morning,  as  she  and  Rosa  were  sitting  together. 
Glancing  up  a  moment  after,  she  saw  fading  from  Rosa's 


252  THE    ITALIAN   GIRL. 

cheeks  the  color  which  had  tinged  them  crimson,  at  the 
mention  of  Zanini's  name. 

"Do  you  know,"  continued  Helena,  "I  have  missed 
Zanini? — strange  as  such  a  confession  sounds  from  my 
lips.  Here  is  a  letter  from  him !  He  is  living  in  his 
Roman  palace,  he  writes;  sighing  for  something  beyond 
its  walls,  to  which,  he  fears,  he  will  never  attain.  There 
is  a  message  for  you — shall  I  read  it  to  you  ?  " 

"If  you  please,  I  would  rather  read  it  myself,"  Rosa 
said,  with  a  blush.  The  countess  handed  her  the  letter, 
pointing  to  these  lines — "Tell  the  Signorina  Rosa, from 
me — it  is  better  to  make  men  wish  to  live,  than  to  make 
them  desire  to  die  1 "  Th.3  blood  rose  in  waves  to 
Rosa's  brow,  as,  holding  the  letter  before  her  face,  she 
read  the  words  over  and  over. 

"  I  do  not  understand  what  he  means,"  said  Helena, 
with  a  quieb  smile;  "he  must  take  you,  my  dear,  for  a 
daughter  of  CEdipus,  for  he  propounds  riddles  worthy  of 
the  Sphinx.  His  whole  letter,  indeed,  is  shrouded  in 
oracular  mystery.  He  quotes  Hamlet's  '  To  be,  or  not 
to  be ' — to  what  purpose  I  know  not.  As  for  his  last 
words,  they  are  unintelligible — can  you  interpret  them, 
Rosa?" 

"  Partly,  and  partly  not  1 "  she  said,  and  turned  away 
her  head. 

The  countess  understood  the  letter  now.  She  w;is 
silent. 

Rosa  caught  up  her  books,  and  went  to  her  own  room, 
where  she  remained  until  the  hour  of  dinner. 

That  evening  the  countess  gave  Rosa  another  piece  of 
news — "Salvini  is  in  town,"  she  s:wd,  "and  is  to  act 
here  for  a  few  nights.  I  want  him  to  see  you ;  he  must 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  253 

see  you — yet  lie  may  refuse  my  request,  for  lie  has  never 
quite  forgiven  me.  I  will  write  him,  and  urge  him  to 
come  here,  if  only  for  a  moment.  These  actors,  my  dear, 
are  wayward,  arrogant  beings !  On  the  boards  they  sway 
so  easily  the  emotions  of  a  multitude,  that  they  end  by 
thinking  the  whole  world  must  bow  to  them.  Nerer  be 
overbearing,  Rosa  !  Kemember  always  that  the  day  of 
abdication  must  come  for  you  also,  when  your  charms 
will  fade,  and  your  power  be  gone.  There  is  not  a 
position  in  the  world,  I  do  believe,  beset  with  greater 
temptations,  than  a  successful  actor's  !  There  is  a  gla- 
mour around  him,  which  dazzles  and  beguiles  the  eyes 
of  men.  In  him  they^  see  the  embodiment  of  the  being 
he  presents.  To  their  mistaken  glance,  the  actor  moves 
on  a  different  plane,  to  acquire  a  different  experience 
from  that  of  common  mortals.  Enjoying  the  incense  of 
success,  he  dwells,  as  they  imagine,  in  the  fine  atmos- 
phere of  high  ideals,  whereas,  if  they  knew  the  truth, 
they  would  see  little  to  envy  in  his  calling.  They  do 
not  comprehend  that  from  the  intensity  of  the  emotions 
you  portray,  and  the  very  law  of  that  emotional  nature 
which  enables  you  to  portray  them,  you  are  bound  to 
feel  and  suffer  a  thousand-fold  more  keenly  than  others. 
Moreover,  if  you  are  a  genuine  artist,  your  life  is  one 
long  struggle  to  compass  an  ideal  perfection,  which  still 
eludes  your  grasp.  It  is  a  melancholy  career,  my  Eosa; 
do  not  think  to  sleep  on  roses ! " 

Helena  wrote  to  Salviui,  and  considerably  to  her  sur- 
prise, within  twenty-four  hours  received  an  answer.  He 
would  be,  he  said,  at  the  orders  of  the  countess  on 
the  succeeding  day,  at  two  o'clock.  At  the  appointed 
hour  he  came.  Helena  was  alone;  Salvini  seized  her 


254  THE    ITALIAN   GIRL. 

hands  on  entering,  and  pressed  them  to  his  lip '.  "  Then 
yon  have  forgiven  me !  "  she  said. 

"I  must  needs  do  so,  for  I  have  never  found  another 
like  you  ! " 

"I  hear  that  the  same  triumphs,  as  of  old,  crown  Sal- 
vini  wherever  he  goes  ! " 

"I  cannot  say  that.  I  have  learned  too  well — since  I 
lost  you — how  the  spirit  dies  out  of  acting,  when  you 
have  no  one  to  comprehend  anil  respond  to  your  exalta- 
tion. I  do  assure  yon,  signora,  since  you  left  the  stage 
I  have  never  known  what  it  was  to  feel  my  part.  "\Vith 
me,  now,  as  Avith  so  many  others,  everything  is  studied, 
premeditated ;  the  old  gush  of  spontaneity  is  gone ;  I 
came  to  you  to-day,  tremulous  with* hope  that  you  might 
at  last  have  repented — that  you  might  yet — "  he  paused, 
and  scanned  curiously  her  face. 

Helena  returned  his  gaze.  "Yon  find  me  changed," 
she  said.  "You  will  never  see  mn  on  the  stage  again. 
But  I  have  a  friend — a  prot'&fj'^ — whom  I  have  trained 
myself,  and  I  have  sent  for  you  to  ask  for  her  the  place 
which  I  should  once  have  filled." 

"  Impossible  !  "  said  Salvini. 

'•'No,  it  is  not  impossibl  •>.  First,  see  her,  and  tnen 
j'idge.  She  is  still  very  young — but,  mark  mo,  she  will 
be  great  one  day — greater  than  I  could  ever  be.  Salvini, 
I  had  already  done  my  utmost,  when  I  left  the  stage  — 
but  this  girl  will  grow  day  by  day.  I  will  call  her — • 
Rosa !  " 

Rosa  emerged  from  her  little  boudoir,  hesitating  a 
moment  on  the  threshold.  Salvini  looked  up,  and  could 
not  restrain  a  cry  of  admiration.  A  gleam  of  triumph 
crossed  Helena's  face. 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  255 

"  Show  Signer  Salvini  what  you  can  do !  "  Helena  said, 
in  the  commanding  voice  which  had  always  chilled  Eosa, 
from  which  she  knew  there  was  no  appeal.  "  Give  me 
your  book !  What  is  it  ?  " 

Eosa  had  been  studying  Francesca  di  Rimini.  She 
handed  the  volume  to  Helena,  and  giving  her  one  de- 
precating look,  with  flushed  cheeks  and  lowered  voice, 
began.  As  she  proceeded,  Salvini's  eyes  kindled — then 
were  riveted  upon  her  face.  "Gran  Din!"  he  exclaimed 
— "Gran  Dio!  Brava!"  he  cried  again,  for  the  young 
creature  had  forgotten  herself  completely  in  her  part. 
Finally,  when  she  reached  the  death  scene,  the  actor 
sprang  to  his  feet,  and  with  fervent  admiration  he 
offered  his  hand  to  lift  her  from  the  floor;  then,  turning 
to  the  countess,  declared,  "She  shall  act  with  me  I 
have  seen  nothing  like  this  for  years; — not  since  1858, 
when  you  and  I  played  the  tragedy  at  Milan.  Do  yon 
remember  ?  " 

"I  do!"  said  Helena,  dryly.  "It  is  enough.  I  have 
conquered  through  another,  but  I  prize  the  triumph  as 
if  it  were  my  own.  Eosa,  you  can  go  to  your  boudoir, 
if  you  like ! " 

With  a  bow  to  the  visitor,  Eosa  withdrew,  leaving  the 
countess  to  discuss  with  Salvini  when  and  where  her 
debut  should  take  place.  Helena  engaged  on  her  part 
that  Eosa  should  remain  in  complete  retirement  until 
the  moment  of  her  appearance  in  public.  With  the 
suggestion  of  other  necessary  measures,  Salvini  took  his 
leave. 

Soon  after  the  actor's  departure,  Helena  passed  into 
Eosa's  boudoir.  Since  her  recitation  Eosa  had  nervously 
paced  the  room,  listening  for  Salvini's  retreating  steps, 


256  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

and  burning  to  hear  from  the  countess's  lips  his  final 
decision.  At  length,  in  despair  at  what  seemed  a  most 
protracted,  but  was  in  fact  a  brief  interview,  she  had 
flung  herself  down  on  an  ottoman ;  when  lo !  Helena,  who 
had  come  in  very  quietly,  stood  by  her  friend's  side.  Rosa 
started:  the  countess's  face  was  flushed — yes,  for  the  first 
time  there  was  a  lively  color  in  her  cheeks — and  her 
eyes  gleamed  like  stars. 

"It  is  decided !"  she  said  hurriedly.  "Everything  is 
settled.  You  are  to  appear  in  the  middle  of  January, 
and  you  are  to  play  Francesca.  I  chose  the  rdle  for  you, 
not  because  I  greatly  fancy  it,  but  because  it  is  such  a 
favorite  with  a  popular  audience.  Ah,  well  I  remember 
how  I  pondered  that  part  when  it  was  my  task  to  act  it. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  Silvio  Pelico  had  diminished  in 
some  degree  the  interest  and  sympathy  which  attached 
to  Francesca,  by  making  her  doubly  disloyal— false  to 
Paolo,  no  less  than  Lancelot!  At  one  moment  she 
clings  to  her  husband,  in  the  next  embraces  her  lover. 
Such  weakness  may  be  possible — even  natural — but 
certainly  such  natures  are  unworthy  the  attention  of 
art.  At  the  close,  however,  the  heroine  goes  far  toward 
redeeming  herself,  when  she  bids  Paolo  hope  nothing 
from  her  husband's  death,  since  even  in  eternity  she 
will  wear  her  widow's  bonds.  Eternity!"  Helena's 
voice  choked  suddenly.  "Through  all  eternity  ?  That 
is  long!"  She  stared  wildly  around  her,  until  Rosa, 
terrifk'd,  said  softly,  "Signora! — Signora  Contessa!" 
The  countess  looked  at  her,  shuddered  convulsively, 
then  proceeded  in  more  natural  tones.  "Still  the 
rythmic  melody  and  the  poetical  diction  of  that  play  are 
genuine  merits,  while  the  two  brothers,  so  happily 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  257 

contrasted — Paolo,  in.-.tinct  with  the  indomitable  fire 
of  yoiuh,  and  Lancelot  bowed  down  with  a  broken 
heart — with  Francesca  the  winning  object  of  both 
their  loves — compose  a  picture  that  must  always  interest 
the  world.  Most  people  never  stop  to  analyze  their  sen- 
sations; they  perceive  only  what  hits  the  senses,  and  if 
they  are  moved,  are  satisfied.  The  rtilc  is  good  enough, 
my  Rosa, but  you  must  be  perfect  in  it,  and  perfect  I  am 
sure  you  will  be!  You  looked  it,  and  spoke  it  so  well 
this  morning !  Ah  ! "  she  continued  in  a  subdued  voice, 
"  Salvini  forgot  the  actress  he  once  admired,  and  saw 
only  you.  As  I  told  you,  you  will  erase  what  is  left  of 
my  memory.  They  will  say  no  longer,  'None  can  play 
Francesca  since  Helena  Ortelli  is  gone  1 ' ' 

"  They  shall  say  it  still ! "  cried  Rosa, "  I  will  not  take 
the  part ! " 

"I  have  chosen  the  play  for  you,"  said  Helena,  firmly, 
"  and  Francesca  it  shall  be  ! " 

"It  shall  be  what  you  wish,"  said  Eosa. 


Amid  new  plans  and  scenes  the  Italian  girl  had  not 
forgotten  New  York.  Not  seldom  the  recollection  of 
her  life  there  returned  with  lively  force,  and  at  times  so 
pressed  upon  her  mind,  that,  turn  where  she  would,  she 
could  not  free  herself  from  the  shadow  of  the  past.  To- 
day in  particular  such  memories  beset  and  overpowered 
her.  Why  should  they  do  so  ?  She  was  no  longer  the 
Rosa  of  other  days,  no  longer  the  poor  apprentice  to  an 
humble — almost  a  degraded — calling!  If  the  countess 
chose,  she  might  at  any  moment  launch  her  prottyw  in 
the  highest  society,  for  she  had  made  of  Rosa  an  inti- 


258  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

mate  ft  Lend,  and  Helena  herself,  through  her  maYrirgo  and 
her  own  splendid  fume,  had  achieved  no  mean  position 
in  distinguished  circles.  Now,  moreover,  that  Salvini, 
the  idol  and  arbiter  of  the  Italian  stage,  had  tested  and 
approved  her,  Rosa  felt  with  reason  that  a  seal  had  been 
set  upon  her  talents.  The  great  actor  had  eng-ig-'d  her 
for  his  theatre — that  meant  she  was  no  more  the  slave 
of  circumstances  dependent  on  an  uncertain  future,  but 
assured  of  self-support — the  mispress  of  her  own  destiny. 
The  girl's  heart  throbbed  to  think  how  far  that  destiny 
was  changed  already ! — surrounded  as  she  was  with  every 
refinement,  shut  in  and  guarded  from  contact  with  the 
vulgar  world!  Far  off —far  off,  seemed  now  the  friend- 
less circus-rider  whom  people  thought  it  discreditable  to 
know.  Discreditable! — all  had  not  thought  so.  Mary 
Marlboro  had  b>en  kind,  and  Ilosa  had  promised — it 
crossed  her  mind  to-day  for  the  first  time — to  let  her 
know  where  she  decided  to  live  in  Europe.  She  would 
write  at  once — she  had  acquired  the  right  to  address 
Miss  Marlboro,  and  that  no  longer  as  an  inferior,  grate- 
ful for  recognition,  but  on  a  footing  of  equality,  as 
one  acquaintance  to  another  intere  ted  possibly  in  her 
future.  Amid  thoughts  like  these  it  was  not  likely  that 
Mr.  Livingstone  would  be  forgotten.  But  did  he  still 
remember,  she  wondered,  the  young  girl  to  whom  he 
had  been  so  kind — she  paused — and  so  cruel  ?  Absorbed 
in  such  reminiscences  she  sat  down  to  her  desk,  and 
wrote : 

"DEA.R  Miss  MARLBORO: 

"You  will  doubtless  be  surprised  to  receive  a  letter 
from  a  place  so  distant,  and  in.  an  u-  kuo  vn  hand,  but 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  259 

I  trust,  when  yon  have  glanced  at  the  signature  yon  will 
recall  to  memory  one  to  whom  you  once  showed  kind- 
ness, which  she  on  her  part  has  never  forgotten.  I  am 
now  living,  for  a  time,  at  Genoa.  I  dare  say  you  have 
visited  the  city.  If  yon  have,  you  must  surely  remember 
the  old  Palazzo  Doria,  for  it  is  an  object  of  much  interest 
to  strangers.  There  is  one  apartment  in  the  palace  which 
is  let,  and  is  rented  at  pre  ent  by  the  Contessa  Malas- 
pina.  She  is  the  lady  with  whom  I  live.  Helena 
Ortelli — that  was  her  maiden  name — was  once  a  cele- 
brated actress,  who  married  in  the  bloom  of  youth  Count 
Malaspina,  and  soon  afterward  retired  from  the  stage. 
She  is  the  most  beautiful  woman — and  the  most  interest- 
ing— I  have  ever  seen.  She  reminds  me  always  of  a 
grand  but  broken  statue — the  missing  fragment  is,  I  fear, 
her  earthly  happiness.  She  never  speaks  of  her  hus- 
band, and  I  suspect  that  her  soul  broods  over  some 
hidden  sorrow.  It  is  she,  my  benefactress,  who  has 
made  me  what  I  am ;  I  came  to  her  friendless,  and  she 
took  me  in! — a  novice,  and  she  tanght  me  to  be  an 
artist !  For  the  last  eighteen  months  I  have  been 
studying,  under  her  guidance,  for  the  stage.  Yesterday, 
Salvini,  the  first  of  our  Italian  actors,  saw  me,  and  regu- 
larly engaged  me  for  next  winter — oh,  if  only  for  her 
sake,  I  should  be  so  happy,  so  grateful,  for  success. 
You  will  think  me  a  great  egotist  to  write  so  much 
about  myself,  but  the  recollection  of  your  former  kind- 
ness encouraged  me  to  run  on.  But  now  tell  me 
something  of  yourself.  "What  have  you  been  doing  in 
this  long  interval  ?  Are  you  never  coining  to  Europe  ? — 
and  shall  I  meet  you,  if  you  do?  I  assure  you,  my 
dear  Miss  Marlboro,  my  heart  often  dwells  on  the  hour 


260  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

when  we  said  good-by.  I  never  recall  your  face  without 
affection,  and  your  sweet  voice,  raised  in  song — as  I 
heard  it  that  last  evening — rings  still  in  my  ears !  Are 
you  going  on  with  your  music  and  your  painting  ?  I 
am  sure  you  have  great  talents  in  both  ways.  Remem- 
ber me  to  your  sister — and  your  friend.  You  may  think 
my  letter  tardy — but  I  waited  till  I  had  something 
of  real  moment  to  communicate.  Believe  me,  I  have 
often  sat  in  Andrea  Doria's  garden,  gazing  out  over  the 
moon-lit  sea,  and  casting  in  it  little  tokens  of  good  will, 
bade  them  drift  toward  America  and  you.  Did  they 
never  find  their  way  to  your  feet?  If  you  answer 
speedily,  I  shall  take  it  a  great  kindness.  Address  me — 
Care  of  La  Signora  Contessa  Malaspina,  Palazzo  Doria, 
Genoa,  and  believe  me,  dear  Miss  Marlboro,  with  the 
warmest  recollection  of  your  kindness, 

"Ever  yours  sincerely, 

"RosA  THORNTON. 

"  P.  S. — I  enclose  my  photograph." 

With  a  degree  of  trepidation,  for  which  our  heroine 
would  have  found  it  difficult  to  assign  a  reason,  the  above 
missive  was  directed  and  despatched. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

TITLE  the  epistle  recited  in  our  last  chapter  is 
on  its  way  to  Miss  Mary  Marlboro,  let  us  renew 
our  acquaintance  Avith  that  young  lady.  Has 
the  current  of  her  days  flowed  smoothly  since 
we  met  her  last  ?  The  first  six  months  bad  brought  no 
outward  change  to  any  of  Mr.  Elliot's  household.  Mary's 
devotion  to  painting  had  not  wavered,  while  some  of  her 
time  had  been  given  to  music,  and  society.  But  Miss 
Marlboro  was  not  happy.  There  had  come  over  her  a 
strange  restlessness  which,  at  times,  she  had  found  it 
hard  to  dispel.  In  such  moods  she  would  linger  long 
before  her  canvas,  brush  in  hand,  without  making  a 
stroke.  Mrs.  Elliot  had  not  failed  to  notice  the  fitfulnessof 
her  sister's  demeanor,  but  to  her  she  did  not  like  to  speak 
of  it,  and  she  would  not  betray  to  Henry  what  all  loyal 
women  have  evor  deemed  a  sacred  secreb.  Mr.  Living- 
stone was  a  frequent  visitor,  and  it  was  apparent  that, 
with  every  visit,  Mary's  restlessness  increased.  At 
length,  one  morning,  while  the  two  were  seated  in  Mary's 
room,  the  man-servant,  coining  to  the  door,  announced 
that  Mr.  Livingstone  wished  to  see  Miss  Marlboro.  It 
was  an  unusual  hour  for  a  gentleman  to  call,  and  Mrs. 
Elliot,  looking  up,  .saw  the  color  deepen  on  her  sister's 
cheek.  Turning  quickly,  to  avoid  Cecilia's  eye,  Mary 
hurried  from  the  room,  but  returned  in  a  few  moments 


262  THE    ITALIAN   GIRL. 

to  say,  hastily — "  Mr.  Livingstone  has  come  to  take  me 
to  his  mother;  she  is  very  ill,  and  has  asked  repeatedly 
for  me.  I  may  not  be  back  to  dinner,  Cecilia ! "  Dress- 
ing herself  hurriedly,  she  said  good -by,  and  as  they 
ki?sed,  her  sister  saw  that  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

All  that  day  Mary  was  absent,  and  in  the  evening 
came  a  line  to  tell  Cecilia  that  Mrs.  Livingstone  was 
dangerously  ill,  would  take  nothing  from  any  hand  but 
Mary's,  and  as  she  was  quiet  only  when  Mary  was  at  her 
side,  the  latter  could  not  leave  her. 

The  lady  whose  illness  occasioned  so  much  solicitude 
had  been  an  early  friend  and  tchoolmate  of  Miss  Marl- 
boro's mother.  The  intimacy  had  •continued  after 
marriagr ;  and  since  Mrs.  Marlboro's  death,  her  daughters 
had  been  objects  of  the  tenderest  interest  to  Mrs.  Liv- 
ingstone. From  childhood,  however,  Mary  had  been 
her  favorite,  and  had  grown  more  and  more  dear  to  her 
with  advancing  year:?.  Mary  had  inherited  a  considera- 
ble fortune,  was  handsome,  and  uncommonly  clever,  and 
altogether,  although  Mrs.  Livingstone  was  a  proud  and 
worldly  woman,  who  had  centred  her  hopes  and  affec- 
tions upon  her  only  son,  such  a  match  might  well  satisfy 
both  her  ambition  and  her  heart.  She  had  often  told 
Ernest  that  Mary  Marlboro  was  the  only  girl  she  knew, 
whom  she  could  welcome  as  a  daughter  to  her  home, 
and  it  had  often  weighed  heavily  ou  her  heart  to  see 
that  he  did  not  respond  to  her  desire.  She  knew,  how- 
ever, that  he  saw  more  of  her  favorite  than  of  any  one 
else,  and  evinced  a  decided  liking  for  her  society,  and 
she  surmised,  from  the  truant  way  in  which  Mary's  color 
cain;-  and  went,  when  Ernest  was  present,  that  the  young 
lady  was  far  from  being  indi ill- rent  to  her  son.  Yet, 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  263 

month  after  month  passed  by,  and  no  engagement  was 
announced  between  them. 

In  the  midst  of  these  projects  for  her  son's  happiness, 
Mrs.  Livingstone  fell  suddenly  ill.  There  seemed,  at 
first,  no  cause  for  particular  anxiety,  but  the  disease 
developed  rapidly,  her  symptoms  became  every  day  more 
serious,  until  at  length  Ernest  dared  not  absent  himself 
for  a  moment  from  his  mother's  bedside. 

"  Mother ! "  he  said,  one  day,  when  her  fever  was  high, 
and  she  seemed  more  than  commonly  restless,  "  Mother ! " 
he  said,  bending  over  her  conch,  "have  you  anything  on 
your  mind — that  disturbs  you  ?  You  fasten  your  eyes 
upon  me  as  if  there  were  something  you  wished  to  say. 
Tell  me  what  is  on  your  mind,  dear  mother !" 

Mrs.  Livingstone  pressed  the  baud  of  her  son.  "I 
wisb,"  she  whispered,  "  that  I  might  see  Mary  Marlboro. 
Do  you  think  she  would  like  to  come  and  sit  with  me 
now? — Oh,  Ernest!  if  I  could  feel  sure  of  your  happi- 
ness on  earth,  I  could  die  more  willingly." 

"Do  not  fret,  dear,  about  me!"  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice;  "I  am  happy  enough  as  I  am  ! " 

Mrs.  Livingstone  turned  her  head,  and  was  silent  for 
some  moments.  Then  she  said — "I  wish  she  were  here! 
It  would  do  me  good  to  see  her  sweet  face ! " 

(i  Shall  I  go  for  her,  mother  ?  " 

"  I  Avish  you  would ! " 

Mary  now  became  a  constant  attendant  on  the  dying 
bed  of  Ernest's  mother.  "Do  not  leave  me! — either  of 
you!  "  the  sufferer  would  say,  plaintively,  "  I  feel  easier 
when  you  are  both  there!"  Not  seldom,  during  the 
long  hours  which  they  passed  at  her  bedside,  she  would 
turn  from  one  to  the  other  with  a  feverish  glance  of 


264  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

inquiry  on  her  face,  and  if  Mary  ro7e  to  leave  the  room 
for  an  instant,  made  her  promise  to  return  presently. 
"It  is  so  lonely,"  she  moaned,  "  so  lonely,  to  be  without 
a  daughter." 

"  You  are  tired ! "  said  Mr.  Livingstone,  in  a  whisper 
to  Mary  one  afternoon.  "  You  are  very  pale — you  need 
rest!  Go  and  lie  down! — I  will  call  you  when  my 
mother  wakes!" 

" No,"  said  Mary,  looking  earnestly  in  his  face,  "I 
must  not  go.  The  doctor  said  she  was  too  ill  now  to  be 
left  alone  a  moment.  I  thought  he  looked  troubled 
when  he  went  away;  he  charged  me  to  watch  her  nar- 
rowly, and  if  I  saw  the  least  change  in  her  symptoms, 
to  send  for  him  at  once." 

Just  then,  Mrs.  Livingstone  turned,  and  breathed  un- 
easily. Mary  rose  and  put  her  hand  on  the  sufftrer's 
brow.  Ernest  had  gone  toward  the  door — Mary  motioned 
him  to  draw  near.  "  There  are  cold  drops  on  her  fore- 
head," she  said;  "send  for  the  doctor  ! — Do  not  leave  me 
alone!"  she  added,  hurriedly.  Ernest  bent  over  his 
mother.  She  had  lifted  her  head,  and  opening  her  eyes, 
fixed  them,  with  a  vacant  stare,  on  the  faces  of  her  two 
attendants.  Gradually  her  mind  seemed  to  recover  con- 
sciousness, and,  gasping  for  breath,  she  tried  to  raise 
herself  in  the  bed.  Mary  held  her  up,  presently  she 
breathed  more  freely.  "  I  am  dying,"  she  paid,  "  dying, 
my  children!  Give  me  your  hands  1 "  She  put  Mary's 
hand  in  her  son's,  and  holding  them  both  in  hers,  said, 
"  Be  everything,  one  to  the  other!  It  was  my  living — 
it  is  my  dying  wish! — Love  one  another!"  She  sank 
back,  and  her  eyes  closed.  There  was  no  longer  any  move- 
ment. The  hand  that  yet  clasped  theirs  was  growing  cold 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  265 

"  She  is  dead  !  "  said  Ernest 

Tliey  sat  long  thus  in  the  deepening  gloom  of  that 
chamber.  The  dead  hand,  alas,  hud  relaxed  its  grasp 
now,  and  dropped  nerveless  on  the  '  ed,  but  the  hands  of 
Mary  and  Ernest  were  clasped  still,  as  if  loth  to  separata 
what  the  last  thought  of  that  vanished  soul  would  have 
joined  together. 

When  Ernest,  in  the  evening,  walked  with  Mary  to 
her  homo — not  a  word  of  love  was  said,  but  each  felt 
that  a  bond  ha  1  been  made  that  day  which  was  not  to 
be  broken. 

Two  days  later  Mary  followed  with  Ernest  his  moth- 
er's body  to  its  grave  in  Givenwood  Cemetery.  But  the 
tension  of  her  nerves  during  her  protracted  watching 
and  anxiety  had  been  excessive,  and  she  was  now  herself 
prostrated  with  fever.  Many  times  in  every  day  Ernest 
called  to  Lam  how  Mary  wa?,  but  always  Mrs.  Elliot 
met  him  with  the  same  answer,  "Her  sister  was  only 
half-conscious,  but  on  the  t'.-ntli  day  the  doctor  hoped 
there  might  be  a  change  for  the  better."  The  tenth 
day  came,  and  Mary  was  pronounced  decidedly  im- 
proved, and  soon  afterward  when  Mr.  Livingstone 
called  he  was  informed  that  she  was  sitting  up,  and 
had  sent  word,  that  if  he  came,  she  should  like  to  see 
him. 

On  entering  the  room  he  was  startled  at  the  sight  of 
her  pale  sunken  face.  "  Mary !"  he  exclaimed.  She  held 
out  her  hand,  and  he  pressed  it  to  his  lips.  There  was 
a  silence  of  some  moments,  while  Ernest  kept  her  hand 
still  clasped  in  his. 

"Mary,  do  you  love  me?"  he  said — his  voice  was 
almost,  inaudible. 
13 


266  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"I  do!"  she  murmured,  as  she  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands. 

"And  will  you  be  to  me  what  my  mother  wished  ?— 
my  wife  ? " 

"  I  love  you ! "  she  whispered. 

"And  I  love  yon ! "  he  said. 

That  day,  after  Ernest  had  gone,  when  Cecilia  came  to 
Mary's  .sitting-room,  one  look  in  her  sister's  face  told 
all.  l<  Are  you  happy,  dear  ?  "  sne  said,  as  she  bent  over 
her. 

"Perfectly ! "  said  Mary,  looking  up  with  radiant  eyes. 
"I  am  blessed  beyond  my  dreams." 

So  Ernest  and  Mary  Avere  engaged.  The  gay  world 
discussed  the  event,  as  it  is  prone  to  do,  and  opinions 
varied  with  the  point  of  view.  Mothers  of  marriageable 
daughters  marveled  greatly,  and  declared  Miss  Marl- 
boro was  too  old,  and  by  no  means  handsome  enough  for 
Mr.  Livingstone ;  the  young  girls  were  unanimous  that 
Mary  must  be  congratulated,  while  the  young  men  pro- 
nounced her  a  charming  woman,  and  Livingstone  a  most 
fortunate  fellow. 

"Are  you  not  well  ?"  Mary  said  to  him  one  evening, 
some  months  after  Mrs.  Livingstone's  death.  It  was 
twilight,  and  they  were  seated  together  in  the  library. 
It  Wiis  an  hour  Mary  loved. 

"Yes,  I  am  well!"  he  said  abstractedly.  The  hand 
which  lay  on  his  shoulder  trembled.  He  drew  it  in  his 
own  and  kissed  it. 

"But  you  are  sad,  Ernest!"  she  continued.  "Yon 
are  often  sad  of  late ! " 

"Am  I?"  he  answered  dreamily,  as  if  he  had  only 
half  heard  her.  Then  rousing  himself,  "Perhaps 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL,  267 

since  my  mother's  death  I  have  not  seemed  so  cheerful 
as  I  once  was.  I  kno\v  it  is  'common/  as  we  read  the 
other  day,  and  that  'all  who  live  must  die,  passing 
through  nature  to  eternity,' — yet  the  tie  between  a 
mother  and  a  son  is  close." 

"  Dear  Ernest,  I  grieve  with  and  for  you !"  said  Mary, 
earnestly. 

"I  know  it,  Mary!" 

"This  is  a  sweet  hour !"  she  said.  "  At  such  a  time  of 
all  others — could  we  believe  with  the  Spiritualists,  one 
would  wish  to  see  and  hold  communion  with  friends 
that  have  passed  away.  Do  you  know,  Ernest,  I  almost 
regret  that  their  claims  are  not  sustained,  for  at  times 
my  faith  wavers,  and  I  cannot  look  forward  with  the  old 
confidence  to  a  life  hereafter.  And  after  all,  on  what 
grounds  can  we  be  asked  to  believe  it  ?  Life  vanishes  in 
a  moment,  and  we  lay  the  beloved  in  the  dull  earth. 
Could  we  go  back,  and  find  them  gone,  as  the  disciples 
did  iu  the  garden — it  would  be  different;  but  when  we 
seek  them  they  are  still  there — only  fearfully  changed. 
Iu  all  else  we  rely  on  our  senses,  but  here  we  are  bidden 
to  trust  in  what  is  neither  visible  nor  tangible — and 
thai  is  faith!" 

"  Yes/' he  answered,  "and  a  sublime  faith!  Without 
it  we  should  wander  like  shadows  over  the  earth,  rest- 
less, purposeless — without  a  beacon,  or  a  conscience! 
Yet  even  for  those  who  do  not  believe  in  immortality  I 
cannot  think  death  an  evil.  Were  it  not  for  that  certain 
goal  to  which  one  and  all  are  hastening,  I  imagine  this 
burden  of  existence  would  become  so  insupportable  that 
men 'would  go  mad,  or  combine  in  universal  suicide;  in 
which  event,"  he  added,  "  the  world  would  only  rehearse 


268  THE  ITALIAN  GIRL, 

on  a  colossal  scale  one  of  Shakspeare's  tragedies,  where 
all  die  on  the  stage  at  once." 

"Life  is  so  beautiful  to  me!"  said  Mary  in  a  low 
voice,  "it  pains  me  to  hear  you  speak  of  it  thus." 

"  The  truth  ought  not  to  pain  you.  I  did  not  speak 
lightly;  I  have  pondered  the  question  patiently— hum- 
bly— and  I  have  come  to  this.  There  is  a  terrible  foe  to 
the  human  race — more  deadly  than  death — which  creeps 
with  the  years  upon  us,  to  \vind  his  stifling  coils  about 
the  soul.  That  foe  is  ennui!  I  do  not  use  the  word  in 
the  sense  which  every  jaded  worldling  and  baffled  trifler 
gives  it.  I  mean  that  palling  even  of  mild  delights  upon 
the  senses;  that  fatigue  which  loads  the  wing  of  the 
traveled  fancy;  that  dreary  question:  What  shall  I 
do  next? — and  is  it  worth  doing? — and  worst  of  all, 
the  woeful  discovery  of  the  uncertainty  and  inadequacy 
inherent  in  human  knowledge — that  discovery  which 
Faust  said  would  burn  out  his  heart!" 

"  Work  is  the  great  remedy ! "  said  Mary. 

"No,  even  work  is  powerless  against  cn^tui!  The 
daily  routine  of  life,  rising,  sleeping,  and  toil,  becomes 
irksome  in  the  end!  " 

Mary's  pulses  throbbed  fast — c;  Does  loving  likewise 
pall  at  last  ?  "  she  whispered. 

"So  sad  a  truth  must  have  one  exception,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"  Ernest,  do  you  see  that  tiny,  bright  star  above  us  ? 
That  is  the  evening  star — the  star  of  love.  She  looks 
down  with  a  reproachful  eye,  and  has  veiled  somewhat 
of  her  lustre,  since  yon  began  to  question  her  power/' 

"I  will  tell  you,"  he  said,  smiling,  "a  story  of  love, 
which  I  read  years  ago.  Once  upon  a  time  lived 


THE  ITALIAN  GIRL.  269 

<m  ardent  youth,  who,  like  the  holy  Thomas  a  Kempis, 
was  'in  love  with  loving;'  but,  unlike  the  saint,  thirsted 
not  for  God,  but  for  a  goddess.  Through  all  the  world 
he  journeyed  in  quest  of  the  lady  of  his  dream,  but  the 
further  he  fared,  the  heavier  grew  his  heart,  until  at 
last,  weary  and  hopeless,  he  chanced  to  enter  the  Tri- 
bune at  Florence.  Casting  his  eyjs  languidly  around 
him,  they  fell  on  the  Venus  de  Medici.  A  single  glance 
sufficed — his  wanderings  were  over — his  goddess  found. 
With  a  cry  of  rapture  he  flung  himself  at  her  feet,  and 
bathed  them  with  his  tears.  Day  and  night  he  sat 
entranced  before  her,  drinking  in  her  perfect  loveli- 
ness. But  by  and  by  his  heart  began  to  ache  again — 
the  marble  touch  of  the  sculptured  goddess  chilled  him, 
and  he  went  forth  disconsolate  to  seek  another  object 
for  his  love.  One  day,  as  he  sauntered  listlessly 
through  the  Palace  of  the  Louvre,  he  caught  the  eyes 
of  the  Lady  of  Milo  fixed  earnestly  upon  his  face. 
His  heart  bounded  in  ecstacy;  he  sank  on  his  knees 
before  her/ and  kissed  the  ground  pressed  by  her  feet 
*  I  have  sought  thee  for  years,'  he  cried.  '  In  thee  I 
find  my  ideal!  True  nobility  and  loftiness  of  thought 
are  written  on  thy  pure  brow.  Thee  I  worship,  and 
thee  only  ! '  Time  passed — and  the  old  restlessness 
crept  back  upon  his  heart.  In  vain  he  strove  to 
quiet  it,  for  reason  whispered,  '  High  and  noble  she 
is — but  »he  lifts  not  thee  to  the  plane  she  dwells  on. 
She  is  self-poised — self-contred,  and  wanting  sympa- 
thy with  others,  may  kindle  no  vital  spark.'  '  I  must 
shake  off  my  lethargy,  and  leave  the  goddess  to  her 
immortal  calm.  Farewell!'  he  said,  and  went  out  a 
lonely  man.  In  the  Vatican  at  Rome,  whither  he  had 


2YO  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

hastened  to  wash  away  his  sins,  he  came  face  to  face 
with  Psyche.  He  loved  her  in  that  moment,  and  the 
loved  him;  but  alas!  they  dwe't  not  long  together 
before  he  recognized  with  a  groan  that  she,  too,  failed  to 
satisfy  his  longing.  *  Oh,  God  !'  he  cried,  in  accents 
of  despair,  'I  have  bo*red  to  beauty  in  the  iL-sh,  and  in 
the  intellect — and  forsaken  both  for  beauty  of  the  soul! 
"Where  now  shall  I  look  to  solve  the  mystery  which 
weighs  upon  my  h  art?'  Mournfully  parting  from 
Psyche,  he  fared  onward  with  hopeless  eyes.  Bending 
at  last  his  steps  to  colder  climes,  he  came  northward  to 
Britain,  where  on  a  certain  day  he  entered  the  Abbey 
at  Westminster.  As  the  worn  pilgrim  of  love  strayed 
through  its  vaulted  chapels — rose  before  him  the  figure 
of  Death.  He  bowed  his  head.  'Wvi  have  met  at  last!' 
he  murmured.  '  Dreams  of  my  youth,  ye  vanish  !  Your 
empire  ceases  with  this  mortal  life,  aud  thy  hand,  great 
Death,  shall  unravel  the  mysteries  of  existence;  I  yield 
tothee!'" 

"It  is  a  fearful  tale,"  said  Mary,  shuddering.  "  Do 
not  tell  me  that  you  read  it,  Ernest  1 " 

"It  is  founded,"  he  said,  "on  the  legend  attaching  to 
the  veiled  figure  at  Sais — do  you  not  remember  that  ? 
And  is  not  truth  indeed  the  ideal  of  us  all  ?  And  we 
must  die  in  the  quest — we  never  find  it,  save  in  death." 

"He  is  changed  of  late!"  Mary  murmured  to  herself 
that  evening  after  her  lover  had  left  her.  "  He  is  not 
as  he  used  to  be!  I  see  it  too  plainly.  Alas,  if  happi- 
ness be  the  aim  of  life,  I  am  not  like  to  gain  it  here 
But  a  few  months  ago  the  earth  looked  so  bright  to  me 
— I  hardly  felt  the  touch  of  care— and  now — and  now  !" 
She  wrung  her  hands,  and  broke  forth  in  sobs — "  Cruel 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  271 

Ernest — if  it  was  a  delusion — why — why  did  you  lift 
the  veil  ?  No,  he  does  not  look  at  me  as  I  sometimes 
think  a  lover  should !  He  does  not — "  Here  her  burn- 
ing face  was  buried  in  her  hands.  "I  love  him,"  she 
went  on,  "so  utterly!  I  have  never  had  one  dream 
of  life,  save  of  living  with  him — for  him!  I  think  he 
loves  me — but  how  much  ?  I  am  jealous  of  his  dreams ! " 

It  was  but  a  few  days  after  this  conversation  with  Mr. 
Livingstone  that  Mary  received  a  foreign  letter.  The 
handwriting  was  strange  to  her,  and  the  postmark  was 
"  Genoa,"  which  gave  no  clew  whatever.  With  not  a  lit- 
tle curiosity  she  broke  the  seal,  and  drawing  out  a  pho- 
tograph, scrutinized  the  features  in  much  perplexity. 
Suddenly  she  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise :  "  Yes, 
it  is  she ! — the  little  circus-rider.  The  same  earnest,  in- 
teresting face!  the  same  fiery  glances  masked  by  those 
sweeping  lashes !  The  same  sweet  curves  about  the 
lips  ! "  She  opened  the  letter  quickly,  and  was  soon  so 
much  absorbed  in  its  perusal,  that  she  did  not  hear 
Ernest,  who  had  entered,  and  was  now  standing  just 
behind.  At  a  light  touch  upon  her  shoulder  she  started, 
and  with  a  blush  held  out  Rosa's  photograph.  "  See  if 
your  memory  is  better  than  mine!"  she  said.  He  took 
it  from  her.  Mary  watched  his  face  as  he  bent  over  the 
picture,  and  she  thought  Ernest  had  never  looked  at 
once  so  handsome  and  so  pale,  as  he  looked  then. 

"  B-autiful !  "  he  said.     "  It  is  an  ideal  head ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary,  smiling  sadly.  "  An  ideal  that  may 
be  attained  on  earth,  without  the  terrible  necessity  of 
death  on  its  realization !  You  have  not  guessed,  then, 
who  it  is !  Shame  on  such  a  faithless  memory  I " 

"  I  knew  it  at  the  first  glance,"  he  said ;  "  she  has 


272  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

matured!  The  child  has  vanished  from  her  face — the 
woman  is  more  beautiful!  So  she  is  going  on  the 
stage ! "  he  said,  musingly.  "  "Who  would  have  dreamed 
it?" 

'  I  would,"  said  Mary,  bravely.  "The  first  night  we 
saw  her,  I  recognized  genius  in  her  face!"  Mr.  Living- 
stone looked  up.  He  was  struck  with  the  expression  in 
Mary's  eyes — and,  indeed,  they  were  the  very  mirrors  of 
truthfulness.  He  drew  her  to  him,  and  folded  her  in  his 
arms. 

"  Are  you  happy  ?  "  he  said,  tenderly. 

"  Perfectly ! "  she  answered  ;  and  in  her  voice  there 
was  so  much  faith — such  self-surrender — that  her  lover 
felt  a  twinge  of  remorse.  It  dawned  on  him  dimly  that 
he  might  not  have  rated  his  betrothed  at  her  just  value. 
Rarely  will  men  pause  to  decipher  the  heart  that  is 
wholly  theirs. 

"Shall  we  go  to  Europe  one  day — you  and  I,  Ernest  ? 
Would  it  not  be  charming  to  come  on  her  by  chance? 
Stopping,  perhaps,  toward  evening,  at  some  Italian  inn, 
and  demanding  what  amusements  the  town  offered,  to 
be  told  by  the  landlord  of  the  great  new  actress,  the  Sig- 
norina  Thornton?"  She  looked  up  in  his  face  for  a 
response.  "I  think  she  will  become  famous — our  little 
protegee  I  Oh,  I  do  hope  for  her  success  I  IL>w  pleasant 
to  think  that  both  of  us  may  claim  her  in  some  sort  for 
tuir  own." 

"  Your  claim,"  said  Ernest,  "  would  doubtless  be 
allowed ;  but  I  fear  I  should  have  none — I  find  no 
mention  of  myself  in  this  letter." 

"Are  you  not  the  friend?"  said  Mary,  laughing. 
'•  Head  this  sentence — '  Remember  me  to  your  sister,  and 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  273 

your  friend ! '  Friend — that  was  what  Irma  called  her 
king.  Levers,  you  know,  are  common  ;  but  a  friend  is 
rare  indeed  !  And  is  it  not,  after  all,  the  larger  word? 
A  friend  may  give  his  own  life  to  prolong  another's— 
a  lover  is  too  much  in  love  with  loving  to  do  that !  You 
shall  not  quarrel  with  the  epithet!  " 

"  I  only  quarrel  with  your  definition." 

"Do  not  let  us  quarrel  about  anything!"  she  s^v 
pressing  her  hands  over  his  eyes. 

"  Who  could  quarrel  with  you  ?  "  he  said,  in  warmer 
tones  than  he  had  ever  used.  From  her  face  beamed 
such  purity  and  goodness,  that  his  heart  was  touched; 
yet,  while  he  spoke,  rose  between  them  the  vision  of  an- 
other face,  younger,  fairer,  and  he  trembled,  for  his  dead 
mother  seemed  to  slip  Mary's  hand  in  his. 

"  Mary,"  he  said,  after  a  long  pause,  "I  do  not  think  I 
am  worthy  of  your  love.  I  know  well  how  noble  and 
true  you  are,  and  often,  in  your  presence,  I  amburtheneti 
with  a  sense  of  my  own  uuworthiness." 

"  It  is  you,  Ernest,  who  are  true  and  noble.  I  know 
you  thoroughly — and  I  know,  also,"  she  said,  with  quiv- 
ering lips,  "  that  you  do  not  love  me — not,  I  mean,  as  I 
do  you  !  Dearest,  let  us  speak  openly  to  one  another! 
I  am  sometimes  haunted  with  the  fear  that — that  you 
did  it  all — for  your  mother's  sake  1 " 

"  I  love  you  !  "  he  said,  earnestly. 

"  I  am  sure  you  love  me,"  she  answered ;  "  I  novel 
doubted  that;  but  not  with  the  love  I  have  for  you  I" 

"  I  am  incapable,  perhaps,  of  such  unselfish  affection. 
That  is  what  I  mean,  when  I  speak  of  my  unworthinesa 
— but  you,  sweet — you  are  the  divine  Maryl"    Ernest 
spuke  with  genuine  emotion. 
12* 


2U  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

These  were  loving  words,  and  Mary  was  satisfied  for  a 
little  while;  but  ever  and  again  she  missed  something  of 
a  lover's  tenderness  in  their  daily  converse,  and  felt  in- 
stinctively that  Ernest  should  have  been  more  devoted 
than  he  was.  Not  that  he  was  cold  to  her.  By  a 
thousand  kind  attentions  he  sought  to  make  good  what 
he  knew  was  wanting  in  his  affection,  and  it  was  the  in- 
tuition of  this  which  stung  her.  Her  own  heart  beat  so 
wildly  when  she  heard  his  step — did  his  beat  thus?  she 
wondered.  She  grew  at  length  morbidly  watchful  of  his 
smallest  actions,  and  her  jealous  mind  became  so  pain- 
fully sensitive,  that  she  would  ponder  a  note  of  Ernest's 
for  hours,  weighing  every  word  and  syllable.  AVere 
these  the  expressions,  she  would  ask  herself,  of  a  passion- 
ate lover?  Wasi  this  the  outpouring  of  a  heart  replete 
with  love?  Had- she  written  him  in  the  spirit  of  her 
affection,  sh  •  could  not  have  said  enough.  She  would 
have  printed  her  soul  upon  the  page,  and  told  him 
that  she  worshiped  him.  But  she  dared  not — such 
confessions  must  be  mutual,  if  uttered  at  all!  If  his 
language  was  temperate,  it  became  her  to  make  her* 
BO  too.  Not  that  she  could  fancy  him  coolly  meting  oi\ 
his  words,  but  in  his  most  fervent  expressions,  she  feH 
that  he  held  back  something  which  was  not  hers.  Some- 
thm-s,  when  she  looked  into  his  eyes,  she  seemed  to  per- 
ceive depths  there  which  she  could  not  penetrate. 

Moreover,  he  was  always  serious  now.  How  she  longed 
to  hear  him  laugh  !  He  would  be  gay,  surely,  if  he  were 
happy — and  what  on  this  earth  could  make  one  happy, 
if  not  love,  and  the  knowledge  that  you  are  loved  in 
return  ?  His  mother  was  dead — true  1  But  surely  uod 
never  intended  a  mother's  loss  should  sadden  one's  whole 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  215 

life.  Such  a  sorrow  well  might  soften,  but  need  not 
subdue  his  spirit !  Six  months  had  passed,  yet  there 
seemed  no  room  for  gladness  in  his  heart. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  such  a  train  of  thought  that 
Rosa's  letter — still  unanswered — recurred  to  Miss  Marl- 
boro's mind.  Two  months  had  passed  since  she  received 
it — two  months  of  constant  agitation,  during  which  she 
had  had  little  time  to  think  of  anything  save  the  per- 
plexities of  her  own  heart.  Suddenly  she  roused  herself. 
"Am  I  never  again,"  she  asked  herself,  "  to  do  anything 
for  myself,  or  others  ?  For  months  I  have  utterly  nf- 
glected  my  painting,  my  music  ard  my  books.  Am  I  to 
mope  my  life  away,  because  of  a  foolish  apprehension, 
which  has,  perhaps,  no  foundation  in  fact.  Am  I  not 
betrothed  to  Ernest?  Am  I  not  to  be  his  wife?  Is  he 
not  mine — all  mine  ?  Does  he  not  tell  me  that  he  loves 
me;  and  is  not  that  enough  ?  One  year  ago,  had  I  been 
premised  so  much,  I  should  have  been  half-wild  with 
joy!  I  believe  I  am  fast  becoming  an  hypochondriac. 
I  will  break  up  this  wretched  habit  of  self-absorption — 
and  the  first  step  shall  be  \-*  ivrite  to  Eosa  Thornton." 
At  once  Miss  Marlboro  car.ght  up  her  pen — as  if  in  fear 
that  her  resolution  might  waver — and  wrote  as  follows: 

"DEAR  Miss  THORNTON: 

"  I  cannot  well  express  to  you  the  pleasure  that  the 
reception  of  your  letter  and  photograph  gave  me.  The 
latter  was  lovely — 'an  ideal  head'  if  was  pronounced 
to  be  by  one  who  took  it  from  my  hands  to  admire  it 
with  me.  Can  you  guess  who  it  was?  If  not  now  at  the 
beginning,  at  the  end  of  my  letter  you  will  read  my 
riddle.  I  sh  uld  have  replied  to  your  letter  at  once,  but 


2T6  THE  ITALIAN  GIRL. 

of  late  I  have  not  been  very  well.  I  was  deeply  in- 
terested in  the  account  of  your  new  life.  Not  that  it 
surprised  me,  for  I  had  looked  into  your  face  and  read 
more  deeply  there  than  perhaps  you  will  believe.  I 
wish  you,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  a  great  suc- 
cess, and  such,  I  am  confident,  will  be  yours !  Nothing 
would  delight  me  more  than  to  be  present  at  your  debut, 
although  I  fear  my  reputation  as  a  discreet  young  lady 
might  suffer,  for  I  should  be  sure  to  clap  my  hands  with 
all  my  might,  shout  '  Bis,*  or  be  guilty  of  some  other 
extravagance.  I  see  you  often  in  fancy,  wandering  in 
the  old  Palazzo  Garden,  which  I  remember  well.  And 
sometimes  by  your  side  1  fancy  I  see  a  dark  form, 
whose  deep,  Italian  eyes  are  resting  on  your  own.  Am 
I  right  ? — Of  course  I  am ! 

"Your  description  of  Madame  Malaspina  was  very  in- 
teresting. I  regret  exceedingly  to  say  that  we  missed 
seeing  her  in  Italy,  arriving  in  every  town — by  some 
unlucky  accident — just  too  late.  She  had,  I  believe,  a 
European  reputation,  and  I  still  recall  our  disappoint- 
ment To  me,  good  acting  imparts  the  keenest  pleasure, 
but  what  rapture  must  it  be  to  an  actor  to  hold,  if  only 
for  an  ):our,  a  whole  audience  enchained  !  Who  knows 
but  I  may  yet  come  to  Italy,  and  witness  your  first  ap- 
pearance !  You  need  not  watch  for  me — we  shall  be 
sure  to  look  you  up.  We! — my  pen  has  betrayed  me.  A 
secret  that  burns,  will  out,  they  say.  Shall  I  tell  you 
mine?  I  am  engaged  to  Mr.  Livingstone.  lie  was  quite 
hurt  that  you  did  not  mention  his  name  in  your  letter, 
but  I  calmed  his  wounded  vanity  with  the  assurance 
that 'your  friend'  meant  him — whom  else  ?  I  was  not 
mistaken,  was  I  ?  My  s'ster  begs  me  to  ^ive  yy.1  1>*J< 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  277 

kind  remembrance— 'Tell  her,'  she  s<*ys,  'that  I  am 
taking  some  care  of  her  little  Italian  friends  at  the 
Orphan  School,' — and  I  will  add  what  her  modesty 
withholds,  that  she  devotes  a  great  part  of  her  time  to 
them,  having  become,  in  fact,  a  pillar  of  the  school. 
I  know  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  she  has  a  dear 
little  boy  of  her  own — the  sweetest  baby  in  the  world 
its  doting  aunty  thinks. 

"Mr.  Livingstone  joins  me  in  sending  you  a  cordial 
greeting.    Hoping  to  hear  soon  from  you  again. 
"  I  am,  always,  your  sincere  friend, 

"  MARY  MARLBORO." 

That  evening,  when  Mr.  Livingstone  was  with  Mary, 
she  said  to  him,  "  I  took  the  liberty,  to-day,  of  sending 
a  message  for  you  to  a  beautiful  lady — was  1  right  ?  " 

"  You  are  always  right,"  he  answered,  smiling. 

"  I  would  prefer,  perhaps,  to  hear  you  say  I  did  wrong. 
Are  you  not  curious  to  know  to  whom  I  sent  your 
love?" 

"Ah,  that  word  changes  the  aspect  of  the  matter. 
My  love,  no  one  but  myself  can  give." 

"  On  the  contrary,  they  who  own  a  thing  may  give  it 
away.  What  you,  for  instance,  have  given  me,  is  no 
longer  yours,  and  if  I  choose  to  part  with  it,  I  can." 

"  Of  every  other  gift  but  love,"  said  Mr.  Livingstone, 
"  this  may  be  true,  materially,  if  not  morally.  But 
love  is  not  assignable.  It  is  a  relation,  not  an  emana- 
tion. It  is  Avith  love  as  with  the  rays  of  the  sun;  it  is 
true  that  they  descend  to  you  in  direct  transmission 
from  it,  but  once  divide  them  from  the  sun,  and  they 
no  longer  exist." 


2T8  THE  ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  said,  musingly,  "  whether  I 
like  your  definition.  Suppose  I  sent  your  love  to  Miss 
Thornton,  would  you  like  it  ?  " 

Ernest  started.   "  I  do  not  think  you  did  that,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  I  did;  I  sent  my  own  love,  and  yours  bound  up 
with  it." 

Ernest  rose,  walked  the  room  for  a  few  moments,  then 
went  quietly  to  the  table,  and  took  up  a  book.  "  Have 
you  gone  out  to-day?  "  he  said. 

"  No,  Ernest ! — But,  tell  me,  do  you  really  know  me 
so  well,  and  yet  imagine  I  could  do  such  a  thing?  I 
was  only  jesting.  I  merely  said  that  you  joined  me  in 
kind  remembrances  to  her." 

"  You  told  her  of  our  engagement,  I  hope  ?  "  he  a?ked, 
quietly. 

"  Yes,  I  did !    I  am  sure  she  will  be  glad  to  hear  of  it" 

«  Why  should  she  be  glad  ?  " 

"  Because  she  has  a  warm,  generous  heart,  and  as  I 
should  be  glad  of  any  happiness  that  came  to  her,  so  she 
will  rejoice  in  mine." 

"And  are  you  happy?"  he  asked,  with  an  earnest 
glance. 

"  You  know  I  am ! " 

"  Once  before,  when  I  put  that  question,  you  answered, 
'Perfectly  happy.'  Are  you  so  now  ?  " 

Mary's  cheeks  flushed.     She  turned  away. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  pursued,  gently,  "are  you  not  as  happy 
as  you  were  then  ?  " 

"  I  should  be,"  she  answered,  in  a  tremulous  voice, 
"  if  I  knew  that  you  were.  Are  you  happy,  Ernest  ?  " 

"  I  am  as  happy  as  I  wish  to  be ;  that,  you  know,  is 
saying  everything." 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  279 

Mary  made  no  reply.  "It  is  growing  dark,"  she  said, 
at  length.  "  Shall  I  ring,  and  have  the  gas  lighted  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  let  us  remain  as  we  are.  There  is  a  peculiar 
charm  in  this  twilight  hour.  Mary,  I  have  something 
to  say  to  you — something  that  lies  near  my  heart.  Tel) 
me,  when  shall  our  marriage  take  place  ?  I  have  to  go 
away — probably  for  a  month — on  business.  When  I 
return,  need  we  postpone  it  any  longer?  I  have  never 
liked  a  long  engag-ment.  Lrmg  ago — but  for  my 
mother's  death — I  should  have  urged  you  with  impa- 
tience to  become  my  wife." 

"Had  it  not  been  for  his  mother's  death,"  thought 
Mary,  bitterly,  "our  engagement  would  never  have  ex- 
isted at  all."  But  she  did  not  speak.  He  took  her 
hand ;  it  trembled. 

"  Tell  me,  dear  Mary  ;  when  shall  it  be  ?  " 

""Why  need  you  go  away  for  a  month,  Ernest?.  I 
shall  be  so  lonely  without  you  ! " 

"I  must  go.  There  is  some  very  important  business 
to  be  attended  to — connected  with  my  mother's  estate. 
I  received  to-day  a  pressing  letter,  which  will  call  me 
away  in  the  beginning  of  next  week." 

"  So  soon !    -Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"To  Chicago!" 

"So  far?" 

Ernest  smiled.  "  What  would  yon  say  if  I  had  to  go 
to  Europe  ?  From  the  queen  city  of  the  West  I  can 
send  you  a  letter  every  day,  and  a  telegram  every 
hour." 

"  So  you  might  from  Europe ! " 

"  Yes,  but  you  would  not  receive  them  so  soon,  and, 
therefore,  I  should  not  feel  so  near.  But  you  have  not 


280  THE  ITALIAN  GIRL. 

yet  answered  my  question;  you  have  not  named  the 
day,  Mary  I" 

"  Wait  till  you  come  home ! " 

"  "Will  you  promise  to  decide  then — and  that  your  de- 
cision shall  immediately  follow  my  return  ?  " 

"I  promise.'* 

They  sat  long  in  silence,  hand  in  hand,  through  the 
dusky  twilight  Ernest  could  not  see  the  tears  that 
dimmed  Mary's  eyes.  "  Good-night,"  he  said,  and  as  he 
folded  her  in  his  arms,  he  whispered,  "  You  will  soon  be 
my  wife." 

"  Never ! "  said  Mary,  as  he  closed  the  door.  "  lie 
does  not  love  me  1 "  And  she  threw  herself  down  in  his 
chair,  and  sobbed  aloud. 

But  the  next  day,  Ernest  came,  and  looked  and  spoke 
more  gently  than  ever,  till  her  heart  was  at  peace  again 
— at  peace  for  a  few  short  hours.  When  he  had  gone, 
and  the  impression  of  his  manner  and  voice  had  faded, 
the  inward  strife  would  begin  anew,  the  old  doubts  and 
fears  awaken,  and  her  anxious  heart  traverse  wearily  the 
same  ground,  scrutinizing  his  words,  his  accents,  his 
gestures,  his  looks. 

But  she  was  soon  to  be  his  wife.  As  yet  she  stood 
only  on  the  threshold.  When  she  had  fairly  entered  on 
her  new  life,  would  she  not  be  happier  ?  At  present  she 
was  tossing  on  the  waves  of  uncertainty  and  doubt,  but 
marriage  would  prove  a  haven  of  repose.  "In  a  month," 
he  had  said.  "Oh  1"  she  cried,  "let  it  pass  quickly! 
for  I  need  to  be  at  rest  1 " 


CHAPTER   XX. 

FEW  days  after  the  evening  when  Ernest  had 
begged  Mary  to  name  the  marriage  day,  he  was 
on  his  way  to  Chicago,  and  Mary  was  alone. 
How  dreary  everything  had  grown.  Those 
twilight  hours  which  were  wont  to  be  so  sweet  were  in- 
sufferable now.  The  days,  it  seemed,  would  never  pass, 
and  the  nights  were  linger  still. 

Mr.  Livingstone  wrote  very  often,  and  his  letters  were 
affectionate  and  kind,  but  to  Mary  they  brought  small 
comfort.  He  spoke  joyfully,  it  is  true,  of  their  ap- 
proaching marriage.  He  missed  her,  he  said,  and  longed 
to  return  to  her.  He  found  the  Western  city  dull,  and 
•wished  she  were  with  him  there.  Never,  he  declared, 
would  he  go  away  without  her  again. 

With  all  this,  something  was  wanting  in  his  letters — 
something  which  she  felt  instinctively  should  have  been 
there ;  and  the  want  made  her  heart  sink.  His  words 
were  pleasant  to  hear,  but  they  were  cold  words.  They 
breathed  no  ardent  longings,  no  passionate  desire  of  her 
presence. 

Every  day  the  conviction  of  this  deficiency  pressed 

more  and  more  heavily  upon  her  mind.     She  grew  pale 

and  silent,  until  (he  change  in  her  appearance  attracted 

Cecilia's  notice,  and  awakened  her  anxiety.    Henry  was 

particularly  kind  to  her  at  this  time,  and  praised  Liv- 


282  THE  ITALIAN  GIRL. 

ingstone  warmly.  They  attributed  her  distress  to  the 
absence  of  her  lover,  and  she  could  not  tell  them  of 
her  secret  grief;  her  woman's  pride  shrank  from  the 
confession  that  her  charms  were  powerless  to  win  or  keep 
the  devotion  which  she  had  given. 

Gradually  her  letters  to  Ernest  caught  the  tone  of  his. 
In  vain  she  sought  to  break  down  the  wall  which  seemed 
to  be  rearing  itself  between  them.  She  yearned  to  tell 
him  frankly  all  she  suffered,  but  she  dared  not  She 
knew  well,  however,  that  although  she  could  not  com- 
mand his  feelings,  and  kindle  that  degree  of  love  which 
was,  perhaps,  her  desert,  yet  he  would  never  slight  or 
betray  the  affection  she  had  given  him.  He  would  feel 
the  deepest  sympathy  for  her— of  that  she  was  sure;  and 
he  would  understand  her,  too.  Still,  she  shrank  from 
baring  her  heart,  even  to  him,  for  the  sympathy  she  was 
sure  of  might  shade  so  easily  into  pity,  and  that  she 
could  not — would  not  accept.  In  this  conflict  of  feelings 
three,  weary  weeks  passed  away. 

As  the  time  drew  near  for  Ernest's  return,  Mary  felt 
a  restless  misery  which  she  could  neither  account  for  nor 
explain.  At  length,  instead  of  her  lover,  came  a  li-tter 
saying  that  he  should  be  detained  a  few  days  longer  than 
he  had  expected,  but  offering  no  particular  expression  of 
regret  for  the  delay.  The  note  was  evidently  written  in 
haste,  and,  as  he  said,  under  the  pressure  of  business. 
The  decision  which  Mary  had  long  been  revolving,  wjis 
made  that  night  She  would  not  marry  Ernest  Living- 
stone. There  should  be  no  more  faltering  now.  She 
would  go  away  and  leave  him  forever.  She  must  not 
see  him  again — that  would  be  fatal  to  her  resolution. 

All    that  night  she   sat   thinking — thinking.      She 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  283 

pondered  every  word  that  her  lover  had  spoken,  every 
look  he  had  given  her.  When,  at  length,  the  morning 
light  stole  into  her  room,  she  went  to  her  desk,  and, 
unlocking  it,  took  out  his  letters,  kissed  them  again  and 
again,  and  then  placed  them  in  the  grate.  She  watched 
them  until  they  were  quite  burned  away ;  then,  sitting 
down,  she  began  to  consider  where  she  should  go? 
"I  must  go  somewhere,  immediately  !"  she  ci'ied ;  "it 
would  kill  me  to  see  him  now — oh,  I  love  him ! "  For  a 
long  time,  in  the  confusion  of  her  mind,  no  suitable 
place  suggested  itself.  At  last,  she  thought  of  Florence ; 
she  might  go  there  and  paint.  Paint !  What  did  she 
care  now  for  art  ?  She  longed  for  nothing — but  to  die  1 
At  length  she  seized  her  pen  and  wrote : 

"  DEAREST  : 

"  You  will  not  judge  me  harshly,  when  you  receive 
this  letter!  Oh,  Ernest,  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart 
and  soul;  but  I  have  watched  you  daily,  hourly,  and 
I  have  felt — it  does  not  hurt  my  pride  to  say  it,  for  true 
love  has  no  pride — that  you  do  not  love  me  as  I  love 
you.  Dearest,  do  not  say  this  is  not  true.  I  ought 
never  to  have  bound  my  fate  to  yours.  The  only  ex- 
cuse I  have  is,  that  I  was  too  exquisitely  happy  at  the 
first  to  see  anything  clearly.  Yes,  I  was  selfishly  happy. 
Here,  I  set  you  free.  I  am  going  away — to  another 
country — where  I  may  not  see  your  face,  nor  hear  your 
voice,  any  more.  You  have  been  faithful,  and  kind — for 
that  I  thank  you.  Do  not  grieve  for  me.  You  know  I 
have  always  had  faith  in  work  as  a  panacea,  and  it  shall 
not  fail  me  now.  One  day,  perhaps — when  years  have 
passed — you  may  own  a  picture  painted  by  the  famous 


284  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

Mary  Marlboro,  and  you  will  say :  '  Once  I  knew  her 
well.'    Farewell — ever  as  ever, 

"  Yours, 

"  MAEY." 

The  letter  lay  before  her,  blotted  with  her  tears.  She 
would  not  send  it  thus;  he  must  not  see  that  she  had 
wept  Wiping  her  eyes,  she  copied  her  letter,  which 
this  time  bore  no  traces  of  the  misery  it  had  cost.  She 
sealed  it  and  directed  it  in  a  firm  hand;  then,  making 
her  toilet  for  breakfast,  she  went  down  stairs. 

When  Henry  was  leaving  the  breakfast-table  she  rose, 
and,  saying,  "  Henry,  I  should  like  to  speak  with  you  a 
moment,"  led  the  way  into  the  drawing-room.  "I  am 
going  to  ask  a  favor  of  you,  Henry,"  she  began ;  "  I  want 
you — to-day — to  secure  a  passage  for  me  in  the  first 
steamer  that  sails  for  Europe." 

"  Are  you  crazy,  Mary  I "  Henry  exclaimed. 

"No,  I  am  not  crazy.  I  do  not  wish  to  discuss  this 
matter,  Henry;  I  am  of  age;  and  by  my  father's  will  I 
have  a  right  to  act  as  I  choose.  My  fortune  is  my  own, 
and  I  am  free.  If  you  please  to  do  this  for  me,  you  will 
oblige  me ;  if  not,  I  shall  do  it  for  myself." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"My  present  intention  is  to  go  to  Florence,  and  study 
painting  there." 

"And  Livingstone?"  Henry  exclaimed, involuntarily. 

"  Ernest  will  tell  you,  perhaps,  what  he  means  to  do ; 
I  cannot  answer  for  him." 

"Mary,"  said  Henry,  tenderly,  taking  her  hands  in 
his,  "do  not,  I  entreat,  do  any  thing  rush.  Our  actions 
should  be  maturely  considered  where  repentance  may 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  285 

prove  life-long.  You  know  that  I  love  you  as  a  sister. 
It  is  your  duty  to  regard  not  only  your  own  feelings, 
but  those  of  a  man  who  is  bound  to  you  by  a  sacred  tie." 

"I  have  reflected,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  which,  though 
low,  was  perfectly  distinct.  "I  have  already  delayed  too 
long." 

"  Have  you  spoken  of  this  to  Cecilia  ?  " 

"Not  yet ;  I  am  about  to  do  so  now." 

"  My  God,  Mary !  If  I  thought  any  one  had  made 
you  unhappy,  or  done  you  any  wrong,  he  should  suffer 
for  it  at  my  hands." 

"Henry,  promise  me,"  she  said,  laying  her  hand  on 
his  shoulder,  "you  must  promise  me  that  you  will  not 
even  imagine  anything  of  this  kind.  No  one  has  made 
me  unhappy.  No  one,  save  myself,  has  anything  to  do 
with  my  present  determination.  If  you  are  thinking  of 
Ernest,  hold  fast  his  friendship;  he  is  worthy  of  your 
regard.  I  know  of  no  better,  truer  man.  Dear  Henry, 
ask  no  questions — but  trust  me.  I  know  I  ask  a  favor, 
the  hardest  of  all  to  grant,  but  I  ask  it  of  one  who  has 
ever  been  a  good  and  loyal  brother  to  me.  Will  you  do 
me  the  service  I  ask  ?  " 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  said,  "  I  will ! " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mary,  holding  out  her  hand ;  "  one 
day  I  shall  be  able  to  thank  you  yet  more  warmly." 

But  now  Mary  had  to  break  this  news  to  Cecilia,  and 
this  she  dreaded  most  of  all.  The  tie  which  united  the 
sisters  was  unusually  close.  Orphans  from  early  child- 
hood, they  had  never  been  separated,  and  upon  Cecilia's 
marriage  Mary  had  taken  up  her  abode  in  her  sister's 
house.  Although  older  only  by  a  year,  Mary  had  been  a 
sort  of  mother  to  Mrs.  Elliot  She  had  guided  and 


286  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

counseled  her  all  her  life,  until  she  had  come  to  be 
regarded  as  a  superior  being  upon  whom  she  might  lean 
in  all  the  dilemmas  and  sorrows  of  life. 

When  Mary  had  told  her  sister  of  her  determination, 
Cecilia,  for  some  time,  utterly  refused  to  believe  her  ears, 
but  convinced  at  length  by  Mary's  manner  t  at  this 
was  indeed  no  jest,  she  wrung  her  hands :  "  What  shall 
I  do  without  you,"  she  cried.  "  What  shall  I  do  without 
you,  Mary ! " 

Mary  pointed  to  the  little  boy  who  lay  in  his  crib  fast 
asleep.  Cecilia  shook  her  head. 

"  I  have  had  you  with  me  all  my  life,"  she  said ;  "  I 
can  never  part  with  you." 

"  But  if  you  knew  it  was  for  my  happiness,  Cecilia  ?  " 
•  "  I  do  not  believe  that  it  can  be  so !  Oh  Mary ! — you 
to  whom  I  owe  everything  I  have — you  who  taught  me 
how  to  win  back  Henry's  love — and  my  own  self-re.-pect. 
Will  you  not  open  your  heart  to  me  ?  Can  I  do  nothing 
for  you  in  my  turn  ?  " 

"The  case  is  different,"  said  Mary,  smiling;  "no  one 
can  do  anything  for  me,  except  myself!  If  you  love  me, 
do  not  seek  to  dissuade  me,  dear  sister.  It  would  pain 
me,  but  could  not  change  my  purpose." 

On  Henry's  return  he  handed  Mary  an  envelope.  She 
opened  it  and  changed  color.  It  contained  a  ticket, 
which  secured  her  passage  to  Europe  for  the  next  Satur- 
day— and  to-day  was  Tuesday  I  She  turned  sick  at  the 
sight  of  the  ticket. 

"Fling  it  away!"  said  Henry,  as  he  noticed  the  in- 
creasing pallor  on  her  cheeks. 

"No;  I  thank  you  for  it,  Henry!  You  were 
kindl" 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  287 

"A  sort  of  kindness  I  should  not  care  to  have  called 
for  again  !"  he  answered. 

The  days  which  for  Mary  had  dragged  so  drearily 
before  now  seemed  to  whirl.  Cecilia  and  she  were  ever 
together  during  these  last  moments.  It  was  the  former 
who  made  all  the  preparations  for  the  voyage,  and  kept 
up  her  courage  to  the  last,  lest  the  sight  of  her  sorrow 
should  contribute  an  additional  pang. 

Meanwhile  letters  came  regularly  from  Mr.  Living- 
stone, which  were  duly  answered  by  Mary.  Her  fare- 
well, as  we  know,  had  been  written,  and  this  was  entrusted 
to  Cecilia,  who  engaged  that  it  should  await  her  lover  at 
his  own  house  on  his  arrival  from  the  West.  Although 
nothing  had  been  revealed  to  her  in  words,  yet  Mrs. 
Elliot  understood  muc  i  which  she  kept  bravely  to  her- 
self. She  would  not  acknowledge  even  to  Henry  that 
any  one  who  had  opportunities  of  knowing  her  sister 
could  fail  to  love  her  as  she  deserved. 

"  What  shall  I  do,  Mary,"  she  asked,  "  with  Mr.  Liv- 
ingstone's letters  which  may  arrive  after  you  are  gone  ?  " 

"Send  them  with  your  own  to  my  bankers!"  Then 
she  added,  in  a  lower  tone,  "Those  will  still  be  mine." 

Saturday  came  all  too  soon.  Mary's  departure  had 
been  kept  a  secret,  and  there  was  no  one,  save  Henry,  to 
witness  it,  for  her  sister  would  not  allow  Cecilia  to 
accompany  her  to  the  ship.  Mary  was  so  overcome 
by  her  emotions  when  Henry  kissed  her  and  said 
good-by,  that  she  could  scarcely  speak.  At  length  he  was 
obliged  to  tear  himself  away.  He  left  her  sobbing  as  if 
her  heart  would  break.  He  was  just  in  time  to  cross 
the  plank.  They  raised  it,  and  the  vessel  bore  Mary 
away  from  all  she  loved. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

ET  us  go  back  to  Rosa  Thornton.  She  had 
received  Mary's  letter,  which  she  had  waited 
for  so  long  as  almost  to  have  ceased  to  hops 
for  it  The  first  glance  at  the  postmark  told 
her  its  writer's  name,  and  with  a  beating  heart  she  held 
it  for  some  time  before  opening  it.  At  last  she  broke  the 
seal. 

Her  breath  came  quickly,  for  perhaps  it  would  say 
something  of  him.  She  read  it.  Suddenly  she  flushed 
crimson!  Engagedl  But  what  was  that  to  her?  She 
should  never  in  any  case  have  seen  him  again.  Was 
there  not  everything  to  separate  them — birth,  educa- 
tion, the  ocean,  and  her  career?  What  could  he  be  to 
her?  And  yet  he  had  been  cruel  to  her,  cruel  beyond 
measure.  She  had  never  hurt  him,  and  he  had  wantonly 
given  her  pain — pain  which  it  seemed  nothing  would 
assuage.  No,  not  study,  nor  change  of  scene,  nor  the 
broad  future  opening  before  her.  She  crushed  the 
letter  in  her  hand,  flung  it  on  the  floor,  and  burst  into 
tears.  "I  hute  him!"  she  said.  Suddenly  she  wiped 
her  eyes:  "  No,  I  will  have  no  traces  of  tears.  He  shall 
not  have — even  unconsciously — that  triumph  !  " 

She  went  to  an  escritoire,  took  from  a  drawer  the 
ros  s  he  had  given  her,  opened  her  window,  and  threw 
them  out  She  caught  up  her  Shakspeare,  his  gift  also, 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  289 

and  said  again,  "  I  hate  him ! "  She  carried  it  to  the  fire- 
place, stood  still  a  moment,  then  with  a  convulsive  effort 
dropped  the  volume  into  the  flames.  With  a  proud 
smile  she  watched  it  burn. 

"At  length,"  she  said,  "everything  is  gone.  Even 
here,"  she  placed  her  band  upon  her  heart,  "  there  is  no 
trace  of  him  remaining!  Henceforth  my  art  shall  be 
my  only  lover — the  only  thing  I  love  ! — save  Helena! — 
Yes!  I  love  her  with  my  soul,  for  she,  too,  is  divine.'* 

The  color  faded  from  the  girl's  cheeks.  She  grew 
faint  and  weak,  and  sinking  on  her  couch,  she  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands,  and  sobbed  aloud.  "It  is  use- 
less ! "  she  cried,  "  I  cannot  conquer  my  heart.  Do  what 
I  will,  the  memory  of  other  days  lives  within  me." 

On  that  evening,  as  usual,  Eosa  went  into  the  Palace 
Garden,  and  for  a  long  time  sat  quietly  in  her  favorite 
nook,  sadly  listening  to  the  laughter  of  the  waves.  She 
stretched  forth  her  arms  to  the  sea — ''Cruel  waves!" 
she  whispered,  "  give  back  to  me  those  tender  messages 
which  I  entrusted  to  your  charge.  Give  them  back, 
or  deep  in  your  silent  depths  bury  my  secret" 
13 


CHAPTER  XXIL 

OT  many  days  after  Mary  sailed  Mr.  Living- 
stone returned  to  town.  He  had  not  heard 
from  Mary  during  the  previous  week,  and 
made  anxious  by  this  silence  he  had  left  his 
business  at  the  West  nnfini'shed,  to  hasten  home.  A 
gloomy  foreboding  which  he  tried  in  vain  to  shake  off 
possessed  him  during  his  journey,  but  the  sight  of  his 
native  city  with  its  thousand  bright  realities,  dispersed 
the  shadows  which  had  so  persistently  pursued  him,  and 
restored  him  to  good  spirits. 

His  first  thought  was  to  see  Mary,  and  he  was  hurrying 
from  his  dressing-room,  when  hiseye  caught  a  letter  which 
his  servant  had  placed  upon  his  table.  Catching  it  up 
hastily,  he  ran  down  stairs,  and  springing  into  his  car- 
riage, bade  the  coachman  drive  to  Mrs  Elliot's  house. 
Then,  for  the  first  time,  he  looked  at  the  address  on  the 
envelope,  and  saw  that  it  was  in  Mary's  handwriting. 
From  her?  She  was  not  ill,  then.  It  was  with  a  sensa- 
tion of  relief  that  he  opened  it. — But,  did  he  read  aright 
— what  could  it  mean  ?  As  he  read  on,  he  could  scarcely 
trust  his  eyes.  Mary  gone!  Impossible! — Wherefore? 
— Whither?  He  was  bewilder-d.  Presently,  reaching 
Cecilia's  door,  he  rang  the  bell  with  violence. 

"  Where  is  Miss  Marlboro?"  he  said,  hurriedly, as  the 
man  opened  the  door. 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  291 

"  She's  not  here,  sir  !  "  John  replied. 

"  Not  here !     Where  is  she  ?  " 

"  Didn't  you  know,  sir,  as  she  was  gone  to  Europe?" 

A  thousand  doubts  and  fears  swept  over  Living- 
stone's mind. 

"  And  Mrs.  Elliot  ?"  he  said. 

"  She's  in,  sir,  I  believe!     Step  in,  sir,  and  I'll  see." 

Mr.  Livingstone  went  into  the  drawing-room,  and  cast 
a  h:isty  glance  around.  It  seemed  as  if  Mary  must  be 
there.  It  was  not  long  before  Cecilia  appeared.  She 
looked  very  grave,  very  sad,  as  she  held  out  her  hand 
to  him. 

"  Where  is  your  sister  ?  "  he  said. 

"On  the  ocean,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Mrs.  Elliot,  for  God's  sake,  do  not  be  so  cruel  to  me ! 
Tell  me,  why  is  this  ?  What  does  it  mean  ?  Why  has 
Mary  gone  away  and  left  me  ?  " 

"  I  can  tell  you  nothing  which  you  do  not  already 
know.  I  thought  there  had  been,  some  misunderstand- 
ing between  you.  Her  face  grew  sadder  every  day,  until 
at  length  a  feverish  desire  came  over  her  of  flying  from 
the  frie.nds  and  places  that  knew  her.  Her  aunt  was 
intending  to  go  abroad ;  and  the  day  before  the  steamer 
sailed,  Mary  went  to  her,  and  begged  her  to  accompany 
her.  But  you  have  received  the  letter  which  she  left  for 
you.  I  do  not  know  its  contents." 

"What  is  her  address?"  said  Livingstone.  "I  shall 
follow  her  immediately — in  the  first  ship  that  sails." 

"  Are  you  serious  ?"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him,  and 
meeting  in  his  eyes  an  answer  which  she  could  not  mis- 
take. "  You  know,"  she  added,  '-'that  I  would  prefer  you 
for  a  brother  to  any  one  I  know." 


292  THE  ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"Thank  you  ! "  Mr.  Livingstone  took  her  hand,  ami 
pressed  it  to  his  lips.  "  You  are  good  to  me ! "  He 
turned  away. 

Cecilia  wrote  her  sister's  address  upon  a  card,  and, 
handing  it  to  Mr.  Livingstone,  "  God  bless  you,''  she 
said.  lie  took  leave  of  her  in  silence. 

No  sooner  was  Ernest  alone  in  his  carriage  than  he 
reopened  Mary's  letter.  He  read,  and  re-read  it,  weigh- 
ing every  word. 

*;Can  it  be  true,"  he  said,  "  that  the  heart  unwittingly 
reveals  to  others,  secrets  of  which  it  is  itself  uncon- 
scious? How  noble  and  unselfish  she  is!  Can  it  be 
that  I  have  suffered  the  memories  of  a  past,  long 
vanished,  to  come  between  us?  I  have,  indeed,  been 
cold  and  selfish,  but  I  love  her  tenderly — truly !  Pray 
God  it  may  not  be  too  late — that  the  way  of  atonement 
be  still  open  I " 

There  was  no  hesitation  in  Mr.  Livingstone's  mind. 
His  plans  for  the  future  were  fixed,  and  his  preparations 
for  his  voyage  speedily  made.  A  Cunard  steamer  was  to 
leave  for  England  in  a  few  days.  In  this  he  secured  his 
passage. 

Let  not  the  reader  apprehend  that  this  resolution 
involved  the  sacrifice  of  Ernest's  business,  and  of  his 
position  at  the  bar.  The  advantages  of  being  a  young 
lawyer  are  few,  and  these  few  wholly  unconnected  with 
the  emoluments  of  his  profession.  Perhaps,  the  chief 
of  these  advantages  is  the  facility  with  which  the 
youthful  counselor  may,  without  detriment  to  his  clients, 
undertake  long  and  arduous  journeys,  any  one  of  which 
would  ruin  the  business  of  older  aud  more  successful 
practitioners. 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  293 

Mr.  Livingstone  accordingly  found  little  difficulty  in 
placing  his  legal  affairs  in  such  order  as  to  sustain  the 
most  protracted  absence  without  detriment.  Having 
thus  arranged  his  business,  which  consisted  mainly  in 
exchanging  a  certified  check  for  a  letter  of  credit,  he 
had  still  several  hours  to  spare.  After  supplying  him- 
self with  one  or  two  books  with  which  to  while  away,  if 
possible,  the  tedium  of  the  voyage,  he  proceeded  to  Mr. 
Elliot's  office  to  take  leave  of  his  friend. 

His  last  evening  on  shore  was  passed  by  Mr.  Living- 
stone in  no  very  genial  mood,  and  the  next  morning — 
being  precisely  a  fortnight  after  Mary  had  sailed — h-3 
had  left  New  York  for  Europe.  The  ship  made  a  quick 
enough  passage,  although  to  one  of  the  voyagers  it 
seemed  she  would  never  reach  port.  On  still  nights, 
Ernest  would  pace  the  deck  and  picture  to  himself  his 
approaching  meeting  with  Mary.  "She  loves  me,"  he 
would  tell  himself;  "her  last  words  to  me  were:  * — with 
all  my  heart  and  soul.'  I  will  do  all  that  in  me  lies  to 
make  her  happy." 

Arrived  at  Liverpool,  Mr.  Livingstone  pursued  his 
way  with  all  speed  to  Paris.  There  he  learned  from 
the  bankers  to  whom  Mrs.  Elliot  had  directed  him, 
that  Miss  Marlboro  had  gone  with  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Win- 
thrope,  to  Florence.  He  sped  on.  The  Alps,  which  had 
appalled  Hannibal,  he  cleared  with  a  bound.  From  train 
to  diligence,  from  diligence  to  train  again,  until  at  length 
he  reached  Turin,  just  in  time  for  the  Genoa  train.  He 
hoped  to  reach  the  latter  city  that  evening,  before  the 
boat  should  loave  for  Leghorn.  He  was  impatient  of 
delay;  he  felt  as  if  he  had  committed  a  crime,  which 
could  only  be  expiated  at  Mary's  feet. 


294  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

He  was  not  far  from  Genoa,  when  the  train  came 
to  a  prolonged  halt  Some  freight  cars,  it  appeared, 
had  been  broken  up  on  the  track  in  front  of  them. 
"How  long,"  he  inquired,  "  would  they  be  detained?" 
The  conductor  smiled — "It  might  be  for  a  few  mo- 
ments— it  might  be  for  hours — Pazienza!"  and,  with 
a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  disappeared.  His  gayety, 
however,  was  not  contagious;  Mr.  Livingstone,  finding 
the  delay  insufferable,  got  out  of  the  carriage,  and 
paced  up  and  down  the  track.  It  was  twilight  before 
the  train  got  under  way,  but  not  long  afterward  a  pro- 
tracted whistle  proclaimed  its  arrival  at  Genoa. 

The  travelers  were  presently  assailed  by  numerous 
and  vociferous  porters,  with  "  Croce  di  Malta ! "  "  Hotel 
Nazionale!"  "Hotel  Fede!"  Mr.  Livingstone  had 
stayed  at  the  latter  inn  in  former  years,  and  had  certain 
pleasant  remembrances  thereof,  so  beckoning  one  of  the 
porters  to  take  his  portmanteau,  and  receipt  for  his  lug- 
gage, leaped  into  a  fiacre.  It  had  grown  quite  dark 
before  the  coachman  had  succeeded  in  extracting  Mr. 
Livingstone's  trunks  and  strapping  them  behind  his 
carriage.  This  operation  he  performed  with  that  ag- 
gravating dolce  far  niente  manner  peculiar  to  the 
Italian,  which,  at  any  other  time,  might  have  amused 
Mr.  Livingstone,  but  now  drove  him  nearly  wild  with 
impatience.  Then  came  ten  minutes  of  jolting  and 
rattling  over  cobblestone  pavemen  ts.  As  he  passed  on,  he 
caught  glimpses  of  grand  old  palaces,  which  loomed  up 
in  glorious  grandeur  through  the  deepening  twilight, 
until  at  length  he  was  deposited  at  the  door  of  the  Hotel 
Fede. 

A  servant  came  forward  to  open  the  carriage  door — 


THE  ITALIAN  GIRL.  295 

''Am  I  in  time  for  the  Leghorn  boat?"  inquired  Mr. 
Livingstone,  anxiously. 

"  Non,  signore  1     There  is  no  boat  to-night ! " 

"  The  train  for  Florence — when  does  it  leave  ?  " 

"It  went  half  an  hour  since,  signore  ! " 

The  Fates  themselves  seemed  to  conspire  against  him. 
"  Show  me  to  a  room  !  "  he  said. 

"Will  the  signore  dine?" 

"  I  should  like  first  to  go  to  my  room.' 

The  landlord  smiled  blandly,  and  pointed  upward. 
Mr.  Livingstone  followed  one  of  the  waiters,  and  was 
ushered  into  a  princely  apartment.  Passing  to  a  window, 
he  threw  it  open  and  peered  out.  There  was  nothing  to 
see,  save  the  Bourse,  now  idle  and  silent ;  and,  indeed, 
the  whole  city  looked  desolate  enough. 

What  in  the  world  should  he  do  with  himself,  in  all  the 
hours  that  must  elapse  before  to-morrow  ?  First  of  all  he 
would  dress,  and  order  something  to  eat.  But  a  dinner, 
however  sumptuous,  if  solitary,  is  rarely  provocative  of 
keen  enjoyment,  or  prolonged  with  that  lingering  joy 
which  crowns  a  convivial  meal.  Our  friend,  therefore, 
rose  from  the  table  in  a  mood  rather  gloomier  than  that 
in  which  he  had  sat  down.  Spread  open,  on  the  escritoire, 
lay  half  a  dozen  of  the  miniature  newspapers  published 
in  the  town — what  a  contrast  they  were  to  the  mammoth 
journals  of  his  own  country.  He  glanced  listlessly  over 
them,  but  their  trivial  local  paragraphs  failed  to  interest 
him;  so,  lighting  a  cigar,  he  strolled  forth,  and  was  soon 
threading  the  narrow  streets. 

The  blended  fragrance  of  Parmesan  cheese  and  the 
sausage  of  Bologna,  which  pervaded  the  atmosphere 
at  that  hour,  impelled  him  rapidly  forward.  But  pre- 


296  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

sently  he  emerged  into  the  Piazza,  where  the  animated 
concourse  of  pleasure  seekers,  beneath  the  soft  Italian 
sky,  dispelled  his  restlessness,  and  encouraged  a  cheerier 
mood.  He  soon  found  himself  watching,  with  con- 
siderable amusement,  the  lively  features  and  gestures  of 
the  Genoese,  who  brought  to  the  most  trivial  discussion 
an  intensity  of  feeling  which  the  native  of  a  northern 
laud  would  have  reserved  for  matters  of  vital  importance. 
It  was  in  a  more  peaceful  frame  of  mind  than  he  had 
known  for  many  weeks  that  Ernest  returned  to  his  hotel, 
Fatigued  by  his  long  journey,  he  was  glad  to  throw 
himself  on  the  curtained  bed,  whose  luxurious  appoint- 
ments might  have  tempted  a  less  exhausted  traveler. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

autumn  had  now  passed  away,  and  the 
hour  of  Rosa's  debut  was  near  at  hand.  The 
'  particulars  of  her  engagement  with  Salvini 
had  been  arranged,  and  the  first  night  in 
January  had  been  fixed  as  a  propitious  moment  for  her 
introduction  to  the  Italian  public.  Rosa  had  now  begun 
to  rehearse  daily  at  the  theatre,  and  the  rumor  of  her 
beauty  and  talents  had  gone  abroad. 

Rosa  could  not  but  be  conscious  of  the  interest  she 
had  already  excited,  but  of  late  a  strange  apathy  seemed 
to  have  stolen  over  her.  There  had  been  a  time  when 
she  could  not  look  forward  without  breathless  excite- 
ment to  that  night  which  was  to  decide  her  destiny,  but 
now  the  thought,  even  of  that  event,  was  powerless  to 
dispel  her  melancholy. 

Perhaps  the  source  of  her  listlessness  was  not  far  to 
seek.  Not  certainly  that  she  had  consciously  formed 
any  definite  hopes  in  regard  to  Mr.  Livingstone,  but 
there  had  always  been  a  voice  in  her  heart  which  whis- 
pered— "If  you  succeed,  he  will  hear  of  it;  if  you 
become  great,  he  will  be  proud  of  you  ! "  That  voice 
was  silent  now,  and  she  perceived,  for  the  first  time, 
that  it  had  given  the  key-note  to  her  ambition.  In  its 
absence,  what  was  left  to  live  for?  "What  would  fame 
be  worth  without  him  ?  And  the  tenderness  which 
13* 


298  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

she  had  scarcely  been  able  to  conceal  from  him,  had 
become,  perhaps,  a  theme  for  jesting  with  him,  and 
with — his  wife  !  His  wife  ?  The  words  choked  her  ! 

Then  the  memory  of  Helena's  great  goodness  to  her 
would  flow  back  upon  her  heart,  and  when  she  recalled 
the  hopes  which  her  friend  had  conceived  of  her  success, 
she  felt  ashamed  of  her  present  weakness,  and  sought 
patiently  to  grow  strong  once  more.  She  confessed  to 
herself  that  her  indifference  to  the  career  she  had  chosen 
was  a  wrong  against  her  friend. 

"  You  do  not  seem  to  feel  well  of  late,  Eosa ! "  Helena 
said  to  her  one  evening,  as  they  were  sitting  together  in 
the  garden. 

"  I  am  perfectly  well,  dear  signora,"  she  answered. 

"  I  fear  the  thought  of  your  approaching  debut  wears 
upon  you  1  I  do  not  wonder  at  it,  but  you  should  re- 
member that  at  this  very  time  you  need  all  your  strength, 
and  all  your  beauty." 

"  If  I  am  lucky  enough  to  possess  either,  in  the  faint- 
est degree,  you  may  be  sure,"  said  Kosa,  smiling,  "  that 
I  shall  try  to  keep  it" 

"  Still,  I  cannot  help  feeling  anxious  on  your  account," 
said  the  countess.  "  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  I  was  less 
excited  when  I  was  about  to  make  my  own  debut.  Indeed, 
of  late,  I  seem  to  have  merged  my  existence  completely 
in  yours.  I  mean  the  artistic  side  of  my  nature,  for,  as 
to  other  things,  I  fancy  I  look  on  your  fresh,  bright  life, 
as  a  poor  dead  body  might  on  its  disunited  soul." 

Rosa  felt  a  twinge  of  remorse  at  this.  What  right  had 
she  to  consider  herself  and  selfishly  dwell  on  her  own 
troubles,  when  the  countess  had  almost  surrendered  her 
own  identity  in  her  generous  zeal. 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  299 

"  Dear  friend,"  she  said,  "  you  are  very  good  to  me. 
Without  you,  what  incentive  should  I  have?  " 

"  But  you  ought  to  need  no  spur  !  Your  own  heart 
should  supply  your  stimulus.  Lean  on  no  one,  Eosa! 
The  strength  of  your  own  nature  will  prove  the  only 
sure  support." 

"  We  cannot  walk  entirely  alone,"  said  Rosa,  appeal- 
ingly.  "  We  crave  at  least  human  sympathy." 

"You  are  right — my  philosophy  is  cold  and  hard. 
Like  Medusa,  it  would  subdue  all  things  to  a  stony 
calm.  Rosa,  answer  me !  Suppose  you  were  told  to- 
night that  some  one  loved  you — loved  you  madly — a 
man  of  rank  and  wealth!  Would  you  abandon  your 
career  and  follow  him  ?  " 

"  I  hate  all  men  1 "  Rosa  answered,  under  her  breath. 

A  cold  smile  passed  over  Helena's  face.  This  was 
indeed  a  child  of  her  own  training. 

Rosa  rose  and  strolled  away  to  her  favorite  resort — 
a  seat  which  overlooked  the  sea;  the  sea  had  been 
her  friend  from  childhood,  and  knew  her  better  than 
any  one  on  earth. 

It  was  a  damp,  cheerless  night.  Camelias  were  grow- 
ing in  the  open  garden :  they  stood  erect,  like  cold 
court  beauties  in  the  moonlight,  stately  and  proud. 
The  marble  naiads  might  come  down  from  their  ped- 
estals at  night,  and  gather  them  to  wreath  them  in 
their  hair,  and  thus  adorned,  look  more  beautiful. 

"  But,"  thought  Rosa,  "  how  cold  and  lonely  they 
seem.  The  little  birds  do  not  love  them,  nor  the  butter- 
flies, nor  the  bees.  It  is  the  very  nature  of  a  flower  to 
woo  the  air  with  its  sweetness,  to  give  and  to  receive. 
How  can  the  aeen  of  them  all  be  contented  with  so 


300  THE  ITALIAN  GIRL. 

cold  a  life  ?  All  cold  things  stand  alone  and  aloof  from 
the  rest  of  the  world.  The  countess  is  like  one  of  those 
camelias  yonder,  fair  and  stately,  but  without  warmth 
or  fragrance — and  she  would  wish  me  to  resemble  her," 
she  added,  with  a  slight  shudder,  "  and  stand  apart  from 
all  the  world."  She  plucked  two  of  the  full,  white 
flowers  and  flung  them  into  the  sea.  As  she  watched 
them  drifting  away,  a  deep  voice  at  her  side  startled  her. 

"Do  I  find  you  alone?"  said  Count  Zauini,  who  had 
approached  her  unobserved. 

rt  Not  at  all.    The  Signora  Contessa  is  here  also." 

"Pardon  mel"  the  count  answered,  "she  found  the 
air  too  cold,  and  has  gone  in.  I  have  just  spoken  with 
her  at  the  palace  door." 

"  Then  I  must  go  in  likewise  I " 

"  Will  you  not  stay  a  moment  to  bid  me  welcome  ? 
Not  even  a  hand  outstretched  to  greet  me;  not  one  kind 
word,  and  yet  it  is  long,  very  long,  since  I  have  seen 
you." 

"We  have  missed  you,"  said  Rosa,  giving  him  her 
hand.  He  raised  it  to  his  lips.  Rosa  moved  forward,  as 
if  directing  her  steps  toward  the  palace. 

"  I  entreat  you  not  to  go  in.  I  bring  you  the  countess's 
permission  to  stay.  Tell  me,  what  were  you  thinking  of 
when  I  spoke  to  you  ?  What  were  you  looking  at  sj  in- 
tently?" 

"  I  was  watching  two  camelias  that  I  had  thrown  into 
the  waves;  and  I  was  thinking  that  nobody  loved  thorn, 
in  spite  of  their  beauty,  and  how  sad  it  would  be  to  re- 
semble that  flower,  exquisite  as  it  is.  One  is  never  long 
contented  with  what  appeals  to  the  eye  only,  save  as  it 
is  typical  of  the  inner  life." 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  301 

"  Do  you  think  it  would  be  sweet  to  be  loved  ?  " 

"Indeed  I  do!" 

"The  count  fixed  his  eyes  upon  her  earnestly  for  some 
moments — then  he  said, "  I  see  that  you  are  soon  to  make 
your  appearance  before  the  public  ?  " 

"Next  Monday  night  is  fixed  for  my  ordeal." 

"  And  do  you  not  dread  it  ?  " 

« Dread  a  failure ?     Yes!" 

"  And  not  its  publicity  ?  " 

"  No !  As  I  have  often  told  you — that  has  no  terrors 
for  me ! " 

"  All  that  you  have  said  is  remembered  too  well  by  me. 
It  was  those  words  which  drove  me  from  you.  Do  you 
wish  them  to  do  so  again  ?  " 

"  Surely  I  do  not.  Believe  me,  we  have  missed  you. 
No  one,  I  think,  has  passed  our  gates  since  you  last  were 
here." 

"  Do  you  never  feel  lonely  ?  " 

"Very  often," 

"  Did  you  receive  the  message  I  sent  you  long  ago  ? — 
in  my  last  letter  to  the  countess  ?  " 

"  She  gave  me  your  letter  to  read.*' 

"And  did  you  understand  it?" 

"I  cannot  tell  whether  I  caught  its  meaning,"  she 
said,  coloring,  "  but  it  seemed  to  me  a  very  cruel  one." 

"If  you  inflict  pain  on  others,  ought  you  not  in  jus- 
tice to  suffer  in  your  turn  ?  " 

"It  is  certainly  the  retribution  which  follows  wrong- 
doing of  every  kind.  But  I  never  gave  pain  intention- 
ally." 

"You  have  given  intense  pain,  and  without  one  mo- 
ment's remorse,"  said  the  count,  vehemently.  "  To  look 


302  THE  ITALIAN  GIRL. 

upon  you  is  pain — to  hear  your  voice  is  pain!  You 
know  it,  and  glory  in  it" 

"  That  is  not  true.  You  have  no  right  to  speak  thus," 
she  said,  rising  from  the  rustic  bench  where  she  had 
seated  herself. 

"  Do  not  go!"  cried  the  count,  putting  out  his  hand 
— "  do  not  leave  me  before  you  have  heard  me  !  Not 
until  I  have  told  you  how  I  love  you.  Since  the  night 
when  we  first  met  in  this  garden  my  heart  has  never 
known  a  moment's  peace.  Ever  since  that  hour  the 
memory  of  your  sweet  face  has  haunted  my  memory  like 
a  beautiful,  but  baffling  dream.  I  feared  and  fled.  I 
went  to  Rome.  I  struggled  to  distract  my  mind,  to  con- 
trol my  heart — in  vain !  The  future  you  had  marked 
out  for  yourself  was  not  one  I  could  approve  of — but  it 
matters  not  1  I  am  yours — bound  hand  and  foot — your 
slave.  Take  me!  Do  with  me  what  you  will.  Suffer 
me  to  follow  in  the  dust  of  your  triumphal  chariot.  I 
throw  myself  upon  your  mercy." 

He  paused;  Rosa  did  not  speak.  He  went  on:  "I 
love  you  madly.  Have  pity  on  me!  All  that  I  have 
is  yours.  I  will  never  presume  to  restrain  your  wishes! 
You  shall  never  hear  one  word  of  reproach  for  your 
choice  of  a  career.  All  that  I  ask  is  this,  that  before 
you  appear  upon  the  stage  you  may  be  forever  united  to 
me.  That  you  will  go  before  your  audience  not  as  the 
Signorina  Thornton,  but  as  my  wife."  He  sank  at  Rosa's 
feet. 

"Count!"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "you  are  very 
generous.  I  know  too  well  the  prejudices  which  belong 
to  your  birth  and  station — which  you  have  brushed  aside 
for  me.  I  feel  deeply  the  honor  you  have  done  me.  But 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  303 

believe  me,  yon  would  never  be  happy.  What  yon  desire 
to  do  to-day,  you  would  repent  of  hereafter.  It  cannot 
be!" 

"Do  not  answer  me  so  coldly!"  he  said.  "For  you  I 
would  make  any  sacrifice  on  earth.  I  am  not  a  boy.  I 
have  weighed  well  my  words.  Although  then  as  now  I 
loved  you  wildly,  yet  when  I  was  last  here  I  could  not 
have  spoken  to  you  thus.  Give  me  some  hope.  Tell  me 
if  you  can  love  me.  That  is  all  I  ask." 

"  It  is  all  so  new  to  me,"  said  Rosa,  trembling,  "  that 
I  cannot  think.  Leave  me  to  myself  for  a  little  while ! " 

"  And  when  may  I  learn  from  your  lips,  my  fate  ? 
The  suspense  will  be  terrible.  May  I  not  come  to  you 
to-morrow  evening  ?  " 

"Come  when  you  will!"  said  Rosa.  They  walked 
toward  the  palace  in  silence. 

"  Good-night ! "  said  the  count,  sadly. 

"  Good-night,"  Rosa  answered,  and  leaving  him  at  the 
porch,  want  on  alone  up  the  marble  stairs.  When  she 
had  gained  her  room  and  closed  the  door,  so  great  was 
the  tumult  of  her  feelings  that  at  first  she  could  hear 
nothing  but  the  beating  of  .her  own  heart. 

Her  life  indeed  had  been  a  lonely  one  since  she  Lad 
come  to  the  countess.  Confined  exclusively  to  the 
society  of  her  friend,  she  could  not  help  yearning  for 
some  of  that  joy  and  blithesomeness  appropriate  to  her 
youth — for  some  one  who  would  laugh  with  her.  Helena 
was  a  counselor,  not  a  comrade,  and  well  as  Rosa  loved 
her,  the  atmosphere  of  the  house  was  somewhat  oppros- 
eive  to  her. 

She  had  missed  the  count  with  his  merry  laughter  and 
lively  talk,  more,  perhaps,  than  she  would  have  cared  to 


304  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

own.  But  the  memory  of  another  had  unconsciously 
excluded  all  ideas  of  love  from  her  recollections  of  Zanini. 
But  now  that  other  had  fallen  from  his  pedestal ;  for  her 
he  existed  no  longer;  even  to  think  of  him  would  soon 
be — perhaps  already  was— a  crime. 

At  least,  the  count's  offer  had  touched  her.  He  cer- 
tainly had  shown  himself  disinterested.  He  had  forgotten 
himself,  and  thrown  everything  which  men — and  women 
too — hold  dear,  at  her  feet. 

She  measured  the  extent  of  the  sacrifice.  He  was 
young,  handsome,  clever,  noble,  rich.  What  had  not  life 
to  offer  to  such  as  he?  And  then  she  did  long  for 
affection.  Her  little  garden  comrades — her  birds  and 
flowers — could  not  satisfy  her.  There  was  a  void  in 
her  heart  which  even  the  countess  did  not  fill.  Nay, 
her  art  itself,  in  which  she  had  striven  to  merge  her 
soul,  failed  to  meet  all  her  yearnings. 

Certainly  her  life  was  far  richer  in  hope  and  joy.  Yet 
of  late  it  had  seemed  so  lonely.  In  the  count  she  would 
find  a  protector.  No  man  would  dare  to  insult  her  then. 
Had  she  not  heard  that  the  life  of  an  actress  was  hemmed 
with  perils — of  these  she  would  know  nothing,  leaning 
on  her  husband's  arm. 

Her  husband!  Did  not  the  name  bear  with  it  a 
sacred  obligation  to  love  ?  Did  she  love  Zanini  ? 
Love  him  as  she  might  have  loved  another  ?  Did  her 
heart  beat  faster  when  she  heard  his  step?  Had  she 
felt  a  joy  ineffable  when  he  told  her  that  he  loved 
her?  Oh  God,  no!  The  mere  conception  of  what 
might  have  been  had  another  spoken  the  same  words 
electrified  her.  But  that  other  had  been  cruel  and  sel- 
fish. He  certainly  would  not  have  asked  her  to  be  his 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.    '  305 

wife.  The  thought  was  ridiculous,  for  had  he  not  seen 
her  riding  in  the  circus  ?  It  was  true  she  had  told  her 
story  to  the  count,  but  he  had  not  seen  her  in  those 
scenes.  He  could  not  realize  them  as  the  other  did. 

"I  do  not  love  him!"  she  cried  out.  " I  cannot  love 
him.  But  how  can  I  tell  him  so?  He  meant  what  he 
said.  He  loves  me.  The  tears  were  in  his  eyes.  Oh, 
would  I  had  never  been  born,  than  inflict  on  others  the 
misery  I  myself  have  known.  I  know  it,  alas,  too  well. 
I  will  not  see  him  again.  I  cannot  bear  it  I  will  write 
to  him.  But  ah,  how  bitter  it  is  to  part  with  all  those 
who  love  us.  She  sat  for  a  long  time  in  earnest  medita- 
tion. Then  she  took  her  paper  and  wrote  : 

"COUNT  ZANINI: 

"Dear  Sir, — I  implore  you  to  pardon  me  if  I  hare 
caused  you  any  pain.  Believe  me  I  suffer  as  deeply 
when  I  write  these  words.  I  feel  so  profoundly  grateful 
to  you  that  I  cannot  find  adequate  expression.  I  have 
thought  much  of  what  you  said  to  me,  but  it  is  best  that 
it  should  not  be.  As  long  as  I  live  I  shall  not  forget 
your  generosity. 

"  Believe  me,  your  sincere  friend, 

"RosA  THORNTON." 

When  she  had  finished  writing  these  lines  she  pon- 
dered them  earnestly,  for  she  feared  she  had  said  in  them 
either  too  little  or  too  much.  She  sealed  the  letter,  and 
threw  herself  on  the  bed.  But  she  found  no  rest,  and 
tossed  sleeplessly  on  her  pillow  until  the  morning.  Then 
she  rose  and  watched  from  her  window  the  rolling  of  the 
distant  sea.  A  long  time  she  sat  thus,  heedless  of  the  pas- 


306  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

sage  of  the  hours.  Suddenly  she  drew  back  and  turned 
very  pale.  The  count  was  approaching  the  palace  door. 
She  rang  her  bell  quickly. 

"  Give  this  note  to  Count  Zanini,  when  he  calls,"  she 
said  to  the  maid  who  answered  her  summons.  Kosa 
listened  to  the  girl's  receding  footsteps.  Presently  she 
heard  the  heavy  door-latch  raised,  then  the  bolt  with- 
drawn, and  the  door  opened.  Then  came  silence.  The 
count  had  received  his  sentence,  and  with  gloom  in 
his  heart  had  turned  away  from  the  sunlit  garden. 

As  Rosa's  day  of  trial  approached,  such  a  light  began 
to  gleam  in  the  countess's  eyes  as  her  pupil  had  never 
seen  there  before.  At  times  she  would  fasten  her  gaze 
on  Rosa  with  an  intensity  ef  meaning  from  which  the 
young  girl  shrank  half  dismayed.  She  feared  that 
Ilelena  required  of  her  more  than  she  could  give,  and 
that  if  her  debut  should  prove  a  failure,  her  bitterest 
pang  would  spring  from  her  friend's  disappointment 

"I  know  it  all!  "said  the  countess  one  morning,  giving 
her  protegee  one  of  her  piercing  looks.  "I  know  it  all. 
You  have  refused  what  would  have  most  tempted  any 
other  woman.  And  this  for  your  art's  sake!  Believe 
me,  I  honor  you  for  it ! " 

Rosa  turned  away  her  head,  and  there  was  a  heavy 
feeling  at  her  heart,  for  she  knew  she  did  not  deserve 
this  praise.  Had  not  what  the  countess  spoke  of  as 
temptation  proved  tempting  to  her  also.  And  even 
sincp,  and  recently,  had  there  not  been  moments  when 
she  fancied  that  her  decision  might  have  been  mis- 
taken ? 

"Come  into  my  room,"  said  Ilelena,  from  whose 
searching  glance  no  expression  of  Rjsa's  features,  how- 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  301 

ever  fugitive,  escaped.  She  sought  to  give  a  new  direc- 
tion to  thoughts  which  were  evidently  preoccupied,  and 
proceeded  to  show  her  pupil  the  dress  which  she  meant 
her  to  wear  at  the  theatre.  "It  had  just  been  made  up 
for  me,"  she  told  her,  "  when  I  left  the  stage." 

Eosa  could  not  restrain  an  exclamation  of  surprise 
and  pleasure  when  her  eyes  fell  on  the  beautiful  costume. 
The  stuff  was  a  white  satin,  cut  square  in  the  neck,  with 
flowing  sleeves  and  a  long  train.  The  hem  of  the  gown,  as 
well  as  the  sleeves  and  waist,  were  heavily  embroidered 
with  gold.  A  transparent  veil  of  gold  thread,  which  was 
to'  be  fastened  to  the  hair  by  a  coronet  of  diamonds, 
shrouded  the  shoulders,  and  fell  to  the  edge  of  the 
train. 

"  Try  it  on ! "  said  Helena,  pleased  with  the  gleams  of 
childlike  joy  in  Eosa's  face.  And  she  assisted  her  to 
adjust  the  veil ;  then,  standing  a  little  distance,  surveyed 
her  with  genuine  admiration. 

"  You  are  indeed  beautiful ! "  she  said. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Eosa,  "  in  this  gown  I  have  a 
feeling  almost  of  disloyalty,  as  if  I  were  usurping  your 
prerogative." 

"You  need  not,"  Helena  answered  quickly;  "it  suits 
you  well!  Francesca  does  not  change  her  dress  during 
th  •  piece,  but  in  the  last  act  she  throws  aside  the  crown 
and  veil,  for  they  are  insignia  of  the  house  of  Eimini. 
For  my  sake  you  must  promise  to  wear  this  dress.  Ah, 
I  little  thought  when  I  laid  it  away  that  it  would  ever  be 
worn  by  any  one!  I  have  many  other  costumes  adapted 
to  my  favorite  roles,  all  of  which  I  hope  you  will  one  day 
assume.  The  others,  ho"wever,  have  been  worn  by  me. 

"The  only  regret  I  have,"  said  Eosa,  "in  accepting 


308  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

this,  is  that  you  have  never  worn  it.  Had  you  done  so, 
it  might  have  lent  me  inspiration." 

"Inspiration,  my  child,  springs  from  no  outward 
source.  Its  fount  is  in  yourself — here,  beneath  these 
crowned  locks,"  said  Helena,  touching  the  coronet  on 
Rosa's  brow. 

"  Would  it  not  be  dreadful,"  exclaimed  Rosa,  laugh- 
ing, "  if  at  the  close  of  my  first  evening  I  should  be  com- 
pelted  to  abandon  the  stage,  crying  with  Pia  dei  Ptole- 
m&i— Helena  made  me,  I  was  unmade  by  myself." 

"That  must  not — shall  not  be!"  said  the  countess 
quickly.  "  You  will — you  shall  succeed  !  Tell  me,  do  you 
think  Zanini  will  be  there  ?  I  should  like  him  to  behold 
with  his  own  eyes  all  that  he  has  lost" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  Rosa  said,  impatiently.  It  was  the 
first  time  that  the  countess  had  heard  an  accent  of  petu- 
lance in  her  voice. 

"  You  think  me  cruel.  I  am  so.  I  cannot  but  feel  a 
momentary  pleasure  when  a  man  suffers  pain.  My  own 
heart  is  a  scarred  thing,  and  yet,  I  think,"  she  added, 
"that  I  would  go  through. fire  and  water  to  save  a  pang 
to  any  human  being.  There  is  something  like  a  dualism 
in  my  nature  which  I  cannot  comprehend.  There  are 
times  when  I  detest  those  whom  I  truly  love.  But 
never  you,  Rosa.  You  are  the  one  being  on  earth  who 
is  always  dear  to  ine.  And  yet  the  knowledge  that  it  is 
so  often  fills  me  with  a  wild  regret" 

"  You  would  never  say  that,  signora,  if  you  could  ap- 
preciate all  that  you  have  done  for  me — if  you  would 
measure  the  depth  of  my  loving  gratitude." 

For  a  moment  Helena's  face  softened,  and  she  drew 
Rosa  to  her  heart 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


awoke  the  morning  after  his 
arrival  in  Genoa  from  slumbers  perhaps  heavier 
than  a  lover  in  pursuit  of  his  mistress  ought 
in  strict  propriety  to  enjoy,  but  his  long  and 
tiresome  journey  must  be  his  apology  to  the  exigent 
reader.  No  sooner  was  he  thoroughly  aroused  than  he 
glanced  around  him  to  find  the  sunlight  pouring  through 
his  windows.  Drawing  his  watch  from  beneath  his  pil- 
low, he  perceived  the  time  to  be  nine  o'clock.  He  rang 
the  bell  violently. 

"  How  does  it  happen,"  he  demanded  of  the  servant, 
"that  no  attention  is  paid  in  this  house  to  one's  orders? 
Why  was  I  not  awakened?  i 

"I  knocked  a  long  time  %the  signore's  door,  but  the 
signore  not  answering,  I  concluded  that  he  did  not  wish 
to  be  disturbed." 

"  Blockhead!  '*"  returned  Livingstone,  "you  must  have 
knocked  with  a  feather.  I  have  lost  the  train !  " 

"  Will  the  signore  take  a  cup  of  coffee  before  rising  ? " 
inquired  the  man,  with  a  grin,  the  prospect  of  Mr.  Liv- 
ingstone's detention  apparently  causing  him  great  satis- 
faction. 

"  At  what  hour  does  the  next  train  leave  for  Florence  ?  " 

"  I  could  not  inform  the  signore,  without  making  some 
inquiry." 


310  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"  Inquire  at  once,  then,  and  bring  me  word,"  cried 
Livingstone,  to  whose  impatient  spirit  the  cheerful 
visage  of  the  servant  was  at  that  moment  peculiarly  ag- 
gravating. 

The  waiter  speedily  returned  with  a  newspaper,  which, 
he  said,  would  give  the  signor  the  hours  of  departure, 
and  bore  likewise  a  message  from  the  padrone,  whereof 
he  delivered  himself  with  his  previous  hilarity,  to  the 
effect  that  the  signor  need  not  hurry,  as  breakfast  could 
be  prepared  at  all  hours — would  the  signor  partake  of 
that  meal  in  his  own  apartment,  or  in  the  coffee-room  ? 

"When  I  desire  it  I  will  ring,  and  give  my  orders." 

The  man  bowed  and  disappeared.  Livingstone  turned 
over  tne  journal,  and  discovered  by  the  schedule  of  trains 
that  none  would  leave  Genoa  for  Florence  until  six 
o'clock  that  evening. 

"  Not  hurry ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  Confound  the  fellow's 
impudence!  Another  long  day  before  me,  and  not  even 
the  stimulus  of  movement  to  break  its  monotony.  lie 
arose,  and  amid  reflections  upon  the  tendency  of  solitude 
to  produce  a  general  crabjsedness  and  misanthropical 
state  of  the  feelings,  he  completed  his  toilette.  Scarcely 
was  he  dressed  when  he  heard  a  shuffling  in  the  hall,  fol- 
lowed by  a  sharp  rap  at  his  door. 

"Come  in!"  he  called  out,  glad  of  any  distraction. 
At  once  the  door  opened,  and  a  brisk  little  man,  in  a 
faded  velveteen  coat,  with  a  Garibaldi  hat  in  his  hand, 
entered  the  room,  and  turning  to  a  second  gentleman, 
who  seemed  a  sort  of  shadow  of  himself,  motion'  d  him 
mysteriously  to  follow.  The  poor  shade,  who  seenu-d 
to  be  in  low  spirits,  entered,  and,  at  a  sign  from  his 
superior,  removed  a  strip  of  green  baize  from  a  picture 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  311 

which  he  carried  under  his  arm,  and  placed  against  the 
Wall. 

"There! — Place  it  nearer  to  the  window!  A  little 
back.  Now  slightly  to  the  left — there,  we  have  a  per- 
fect light  I " 

These  injunctions  were  issued  by  the  brisk  maestro  to 
his  shade,  who,  in  silence  and  increasing  depression  of 
spirits,  shifted  the  picture  from  side  to  side.  Mr.  Liv- 
ingstone, meanwhile,  surveyed  their  proceedings  with 
much  amusement. 

"  Milord !  "  began  the  newcomer. 

"I  am  not  a  lord,"  answered  Livingstone,  "what  do 
you  want?" 

"  Pardon  me,  milord,  I  will  respect  your  disguise.  It 
has  been  my  good  fortune,  through  your  landlord,  to 
penetrate  it.  So  highly  has  Signor  Bettini  extolled  your 
taste,  that  I  have  ventured  to  submit  to  your  inspection 
a  very  great  marvel — an  original ! "  His  face  beamed 
with  enthusiasm.  "  An  original  masterpiece  of  the 
divine  Correggio!  It  was  purchased/'  he  continued, 
dropping  his  voice  to  a  stage-whisper,  "it  was  purchased 
by  me  from  Prince  Doria  himself — you  know  the  prince, 
he  is  in  straitened  circumstances — " 

Livingstone  felt  almost  grateful  to  the  man  for  whiling 
away  a  portion  of  his  morning,  and  listened  with  a  sem- 
blance of  sympathetic  interest,  which  encouraged  the 
dealer  to  proceed  with  growing  earnestness. 

"  The  theme  of  this  immortal  work  is  not  unworthy 
of  the  master's  genius.  You  perceive  that  the  picture 
represents  a  martyr  to  the  Christian  faith — dying  at  the 
stake!" 

Livingstone  examined  the  canvas  curiously.    Beneath 


312  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

alternate  layers  of  varnish  and  dnst  he  could  descry 
nothing  but  two  cherubs,  smiling  inanely  at  one 
another,  and  holding  between  them  a  garland  of  roses. 

"Where,"  he  asked,  with  considerable  surprise,  "is 
the  martyr,  and  where  the  stake  ?  " 

The  dealer  shook  his  head,  and  smiled  deprecatingly? 
as  if  he  masked  a  well-bred  pity  for  his  ignorance. 

"Milord  jests,"  he  said,  "Correggio,  as  milord  well 
knows,  loved  to  look  on  the  bright  side  of  existence,  and 
his  exquisite  sensibility  shrank  from  the  gross  portrayal 
of  physical  suffering.  Even  in  depicting  pain,  he  loves 
to  hint  at  it  through  some  cheerful  collateral  circum- 
stance, rather  than  obtrude  it  on  the  eye.  Thus,  here — 
the  agony  of  the  martyr — nay,  the  martyr  himself — and 
the  hideous  stake — are  all  sedulously  concealed.  You 
are  left  to  guess  them  by  the  light  thrown  by  the  flames 
on  yon  cherubic  forms."  And  the  man  pointed  to  what 
Livingstone  had  taken  for  the  mild  radiance  of  the  morn- 
ing, in  whose  gleams  the  cherubs  seemed  to  play. 

"Observe,"  the  man  continued,  unmoved  by  the  be- 
wildered look  upon  his  listener's  face,  "observe  the 
crown  of  roses  which  those  cherubs  hold,  in  readiness  to 
crown  the  saint  the  moment  his  agony  is  over.  What 
marvelous  invention!  With  what  striking  force,  yet 
with  what  matchless  delicacy,  has  the  master's  hand 
wrought  out  his  sublime  conception — and  this,  all  this — 
you  can  obtain  for  a  wretched  pittance — for  ten  thousand 
francs.  At  auction,  it  would  fetch,  as  I  told  the  prince, 
ten  times  that  sum!  But  noblesse  will  have  its  preju- 
dices! I  have  just  brought  it  from  the  Doria  Palaco 
— from  the  very  apartment  where  the  Signoriua  Rosa 
lives." 


THE  ITALIAN  GIRL.  313 

"  "Who  is  this  Signorina  Rosa  ?  "  exclaimed  Livingstone, 
his  interest  suddenly  awakened. 

"  Is  it  possible  you  have  not  heard  of  the  Signorina 
Rosa — she  who  is  to  make  her  debut  this  evening?" 

"  Her  debut  f    Where  ?— as  what  ?  " 

"On.  the  stage — as  an  actress!  The  whole  city  is  in 
a  whirl  of  expectation  !  Surely  you  will  not  fail  to  see 
her!" 

The  Correggio,  the  little  vender,  and  his  shadow  had 
vanished,  as  if  by  magic,  from  Livingstone's  vision.  He 
stood  silent,  wrapped  in  his  own  thoughts.  His  visitor 
drew  back,  willing  to  allow  the  stranger  time  and  liberty 
to  consider  his  precious  treasure  and  its  price.  But  his 
patience  had  limits,  and  finding  the  foreign  gentleman 
arrived  at  no  decision,  he  thought  fit  to  remind  him  of 
the  passage  of  time. 

"'If  milord  would  but  consider  how  trifling  is  the 
sum  I  ask  ! " 

Mr.  Livingstone  was  recalled  from  dream-land. 

"  I  will  think  of  it,"  he  said,  "  you  may  call  to-morrow 
for  an  answer." 

The.  man's  face  fell.    '  Yes,  milord,  but  suppose — " 

"I  will  give  you  a  definite  answer  to-morrow !  I  have 
business  this  morning."  He  took  out  his  watch,  and 
glanced  impatiently  toward  the  door. 

The  feelings  of  the  dealer  were  wounded  in  their  most 
sensitive  point.  It  was  plain  that  he  held  himself  in- 
sulted in  the  artistic  side  of  his  nature.  He  signed  to 
the  shadow  to  take  up  the  pointing,  and  with  his  own 
hands  helped  to  fold  it  in  its  green  covering.  Never 
before  had  the  poor  shadow  found  him  so  affable.  With 
a  glance  of  scorn  toward  the  spot  where  Livingstone 
14 


314  THE  ITALIAN  GIRL. 

stood  abstracted  and  quite  unconscious  of  the  wrath  he 
had  kindled  in  the  Italian's  breast,  the  baffled  vender  of 
false  originals  departed. 

Mr.  Livingstone  looked  about  him.  He  was  alone. 
Man  and  picture  had  vanished.  He  went  to  the  table, 
and  catching  up  the  paper,  eagerly  scanned  its  columns. 
Suddenly  his  eye  was  arrested,  and  it  was  with  a  throb- 
bing heart  that  he  read  the  following  paragraph  : 

"  "We  are  happy  to  announce  the  debut,  of  the  Signorina  Rosa 
Thornton,  which  will  take  place  this  evening,  at  the  Teatro  Pag- 
anini.  Tiie  signorina  is  a  pupil  of  the  celebrated  Helena  Ortelli, 
and  the  rule,  well  adapted  to  a  youug  debutante,  is  Francesca 
di  Rimini." 

In  that  instant,  many  conflicting  emotions  were 
awakened  in  Livingstone's  heart.  But  now  his  sole 
anxiety  had  been  the  question  how  he  might  earliest 
leave  Genoa,  yet  here  were  a  score  of  excellent  reasons 
suddenly  suggested  to  his  mind  why  he  should  remain. 
Mary  was  not  awaiting  him,  he  told  himself;  she  did 
not  know  he  was  coming.  Howsould  the  delay  of  a  few 
hours  affect  her,  then  ?  Here  was  Rosa  to  make  her 
debut  this  very  evening.  He  must  see  her !  He  pon- 
dered long  over  the  difficulties  of  his  position.  In  vain, 
however,  did  his  conscience  summon  him  to  go.  He 
had  hit  on  a  compromise  with  which  he  bade  it  be  satis- 
fied. He  would  remain  and  see  Rosa — but  at  a  distance 
only — amid  a  crowd  of  strangers.  He  would  not  speak 
to  her,  and  would  leave  the  city  without  her  knowledge. 
The  visit  of  the  picture  dealer  had  occupied  but  an  hour. 
It  was  still  early. 

Going  down  to  the  coffee-room,  he  breakfasted,  and 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  315 

then  strolled  forth.  It  was  one  of  those  balmy  days 
which  Italy  knows  even  in  January,  and  makes  it  in 
midwinter  to  bloom  like  spring.  Abstracted  as  he  was,  Mr. 
Livingstone  could  not  remain  wholly  insensible  to  such 
subtle  sweetness,  but  his  mind  was  ill  at  ease,  and  the 
novel  and  varied  scene  in  which  he  moved  had  lost  much 
of  its  power  over  his  spirit  He  seemed  to  himself  like 
a  man  adrift,  and  certainly  it  was  a  strange  combination 
of  circumstances  by  which  he  had  been  diverted  from 
the  bourne  toward  which  reason  and  duty  had  directed 
him.  Instinctively,  as  he  went  on,  his  pace  quickened 
in  the  effort  to  escape  the  memories  and  fancies  which 
beset  him.  Before  he  was  aware,  he  had  left  behind  the 
populous  quarter  of  the  town,  and  was  close  on  the  high 
road  to  Sestia,  which  winds  along  in  faithful  companion- 
ship with  the  Mediterranean,  until  it  reaches  Nice.  He 
halted  and  looked  around  him.  Just  opposite  the  point 
where  he  stood  rose  the  great  palace  of  the  Dorias.  At 
any  other  moment  Livingstone  would  have  gazed  with 
interest  on  its  sumptuous  pile,  but  to  his  present  mood 
the  associations  disclosed  by  the  conversation  of  the 
morning  quite  obscured  its  history. 

As  he  gazed  at  the  building,  the  remembrance  of  Rosa's  - 
letter  to  Mary  suddenly  occurred  to  his  mind,  and  con- 
firmed what  the  picture  dealer  had  told  him.  And  this, 
then,  was  her  home.  A  few  feet  only  separated  him 
from  her  !  He  needed  but  to  cross  the  street,  push 
open  yon  iron  gratings,  and  he  would  stand  within  the 
very  grounds  which  she  trod  daily — nay,  he  might  meet 
her  face  to  face.  The  temptation  was  great.  But  he 
remembered  that  he  was  bound  in  honor  to  another, 
and,  turning  resolutely  away,  he  retraced  his  steps. 


316  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

What  should  he  do?  Where  should  he  go?  The 
mood  of  the  solitary  traveler  is  often  a  lonesome  one, 
but  in  Livingstone's  present  circumstances  he  felt  a 
special  sense  of  desolation.  He  returned  to  his  hotel 
in  a  very  gloomy  frame,  and  passed  the  remainder  of 
the  day  in  his  chamber.  He  emerged,  however,  at  the 
sound  of  the  table  ffhdte  bell,  not  liking  the  idea  of  a 
solitary  meal,  and  made  his  way  to  the  dining-room- 
The  numerous  courses  of  an  Italian  dinner,  which,  at 
another  time,  might  have  exhausted  his  patience,  had  at 
least  the  merit  of  bridging  over  the  time  which  inter- 
Tened  before  the  opening  of  the  theatre. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

eight  o'clock  the  play  was  to  begin,  and  long 
'"  before  that  hour  Mr.  Livingstone,  in  company 


with  what  seemed  to  him  to  be  no  small  part 
of  the  population  of  Genoa,  had  bent  his  steps 
toward  the  Teatro  Paganini.  He  had  passed  the  day  in 
such  agitation  of  mind  that  it  had  not  occurred  to  him 
to  secure  a  ticket.  What  if,  after  all,  he  should  fail  to 
find  admittance  ?  He  pressed  eagerly  through  the 
crowd  only  to  learn  that  all  the  boxes  and  parquet  seats 
were  already  taken.  There  was  no  help  for  it  With 
many  others  he  must  stand. 

As  group  after  group  passed  Livingstone,  he  caught 
fragments  of  their  conversation.  Everybody  seemed  to 
be  talking  of  the  new  actress.  Most  prophesied  a  fail- 
ure. Here  and  there  one  hoped  for  a  success.  One  man 
had  seen  her  in  the  street,  and  pronounced  her  unques- 
tionably a  beauty.  Another  whispered  something  about 
a  Roman  count,  who,  he  declared,  actually  wanted  to 
marry  her. 

Mr.  Livingstone  had  heard  more  than  he  cared  for, 
and  hurried  on,  not  unmarked  by  some  of  his  neighbors, 
who  had  noticed  his  excitement.  At  length  he  suc- 
ceeded in  pushing  his  way  to  the  orchestra,  but  fearing 
lest  Rosa  might  see  and  recognize  him,  he  took  a 
station  just  in  the  rear  of  the  proscenium,  and  fast- 
ened his  eyes  absently  on  the  curtain. 


318  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

Preoccupied  as  he  then  was,  he  was  not  aware  that 
every  detail  of  the  scene  around  him  was  indelibly  im- 
pressing his  memory,  .but  so  it  was,  and  long  afterward 
every  incident  of  that  evening  rose  vividly  before  him. 
Then  looking  back,  he  could  recall  even  the  scene  por- 
trayed upon  the  drop  curtain,  in  the  distance  the  Duke 
of  Ferrara's  palace,  in  the  foreground  a  little  lake,  not 
far  off  Leonora  d'Este  listening  to  the  "  Jerusaleme 
Liberata"  as  recited  by  her  unhappy  lover,  Tasso. 
Then,  too,  he  heard  once  more  the  scraping  of  the 
orchestra  violins,  and  the  familiar  air  from  "  II  Ballo," 
which,  at  the  time,  he  had  not  recognized. 

Meanwhile,  the  curtain  swayed  to  and  fro.  And  now 
exclamations  of  impatience  began  to  be  heard  from  the 
audience — the  overture  had  been  once  played,  and  the 
orchestra  were  proceeding  to  repeat  it,  when  suddenly  a 
bell  tinkled,  and  the  curtain  rolled  slowly  up.  For  some 
moments  our  hero  did  not  trust  himself  to  raise  his  eyes. 
When,  at  length,  he  did  so,  he  beheld  two  persons  on  the 
stage.  One  is  Salvini,  who  plays  Lanciotto,  the  husband 
of  Francesca.  The  other  is  Guido,  Francesca's  father. 

Salvini  is  warmly  greeted  by  the  public,  and  Living- 
stone hears  some  one  near  him  say  that  the  great  actor  is 
doing  his  best  to-night,  but  in  vain  our  friend  struggles 
to  follow  the  dialogue,  all  he  catches  is  Lanciotto's  cry — 
"Eccola!  Behold  her  !"  at  which  all  eyes  were  turned 
to  the  side  scenes.  There  was  a  moment's  pause,  a  faint 
rustle  of  garments,  and  Francesca  stood  before  the  aud- 
ience. "Beautiful!"  was  the  irrepressible  exclamation 
which  rose  to  the  lips  of  the  young  men  who  were  clus- 
tered about  Mr.  Livingstone. 

Rosa  was  exceedingly  pale.    She  trembled,  but  stood 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  319 

erect,  and  with  a  gentle  dignity  faced  the  arbiters  who 
were  to  crown  or  crush  her  hopes.  Her  white  satin  dress 
fell  in  ample  folds  around  her,  and  set  off  the  natural 
grace  of  her  form.  When  the  unpremeditated  applause 
which  had  greeted  her  entrance  ceased,  she  bent  her 
head  in  graceful  recognition,  and  turned  toward  Guido, 
who  addressed  her  thus: 

"  My  daughter,  embrace  me ! " 

It  was  her  turn  to  speak.  There  was  perfect  silence 
throughout  the  house.  Rosa  trembled,  hesitated — then 
said  in  a  voice  which  shook  perceptibly : 

"  Father,  give  to  me  thy  right  hand,  that  I  may  cover 
it  with  kisses  I  " 

"  Bene ! — Benissimo ! '.'  is  heard  from  some  one  in  the 
crowd.  And  now  Guido  folds  his  daughter  in  his  arms; 
she  gains  courage,  her  voice,  as  she  goes  on,  grows  stronger 
and  clearer,  the  audience  listens  with  increasing  interest, 
and  a  storm  of  applause  followed  the  termination  of  the 
act.  Rosa  was  called  forth  repeatedly,  and  bouquets 
rained  upon  the  stage.  At  one  moment  she  glances  up- 
ward to  a  stage-box  at  her  left  hand.  Livingstone's  eye 
followed  hers,  and  rested  on  a  beautiful  woman  who  was 
leaning  forward,  apparently  unconscious  of  everything 
but  the  young  debutante  before  her.  She  stretched  forth 
her  arms  toward  Rosa,  then  sank  back,  and  closed  her 
eyes. 

"That  is  the  distinguished  Helena  Ortelli,"  said  a 
communicative  youth,  addressing  Livingstone.  "  It  was 
she  who  taught  the  signorma.  Her  tmpil  does  her 
credit." 

Livingstone  did  not  answer.  He  would  have  found  it 
impossible  to  talk  with  strangers  of  Rosa. 


320  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

The  second  act  opens  with  a  scene  between  Franceses 
and  Guido.  She  reproaches  her  father  bitterly  for  her 
marriage  to  Lanciotto,  and  would  fain  have  revealed  to 
him  her  early  attachment  to  Paolo,  but  she  cannot  frame 
the  words.  Every  moment  as  the  play  progressed  Kosa's 
acting  gained  fervor  and  brilliancy.  But  she  was  espe- 
cially effective  in  the  scenes  where  she  and  Paolo  are 
alone  upon  the  stage,  when  unwittingly  her  heart  be- 
trays its  secret  At  such  times  poor  Ernest  could  not 
repress  a  pang  of  jealousy,  and  found  a  sort  of  consola- 
tion in  the  thought  that  Paolo  must  lose  her  at  the  last. 

It  was  the  last  act,  however,  which  carried  away  the 
audience.  The  Lord  of  Kimini  has  discovered  his  bro- 
ther's guilty  passion  for  Francesca,  and  has  caused  his 
arrest  But  Paolo  has  broken  from  his  guards,  and 
rushed  into  his  beloved's  presence  that  he  may  see  her 
at  least  once  more.  At  the  same  moment,  Lanciotto,  be- 
lieving his  wife's  repentance  to  be  genuine,  is  approach- 
ing to  bid  her  farewell,  and  give  her,  before  she  returns 
to  her  father's  protection,  his  forgiveness.  He  surprises 
her  with  his  brother,  and  now  persuaded  of  their  incor- 
rigible guilt,  strikes  savagely  at  Paolo,  but  Francesca 
throws  herself  between  them  and  receives  the  blow. 
Maddened  by  the  deed,  Lanciotto  thrusts  his  sword 
through  Paolo,  who  also  falls.  Francesca  in  her  death 
agony  lifts  her  head  toward  her  lover  and  whispers — 
"  Eternal  will  be  our  punishment"  But  his  dying  lips 
return — "  Eternal  will  1  e  our  love! " 

So  intense  had  been  the  interest  awakened  by  this 
scene  that  for  some  moments  after  the  curtain  fell  not  a 
sound  broke  the  silence  of  the  audience.  Then  suddenly 
pealed  forth  a  simultaneous  shout  of  "Bis! — Bis!" — 


THE  ITALIAN  GIRL.  321 

the  familiar  ejaculations  by  which  Italians  demand  the 
repetition  of  a  play  Many  times  Salviui  ed  Rusa  be- 
fore the  curtain,  but  at  last  the  I'glr.s  were  lowered,  and 
the  people  began  to  throng  toward  the  door. 

Waiting  until  the  crowd  had  dispersed,  Mr.  Living- 
stone passed  into  the  street,  where  he  lingered,  hoping 
for  one  more  glimpse  of  Rosa.  All  were  gone  except 
a  few  young  men  who  were  loitering  around  the  theatre 
for  the  same  purpose  as  Livingstone.  "  She  must  have 
gone  out  by  the  back  entrance,"  said  one,  "  she  has  gmn 
us  the  slip.  There's  no  use  waiting.'  His  companions 
seemed  to  agree  with  him,  and  accord' ngly  strolled  away. 

The  streets  were  growing  rapidly  silent,  as  carriage 
after  carriage  rolled  away.  One  coach,  however,  was  still 
standing  near  the  theatre,  and  late  as  it  was,  Livingstone 
fancied  he  might  yet  see  Rosa.  Suddenly  a  door  opened 
to  let  out  a  gentleman  and  two  ladies.  Mr.  Livingstone 
stepped  a  little  aside,  then  turning,  he  was  able  to  see 
Rosa  distinctly.  She  was  with  Salvini,  and  the  lady 
whom  he  had  remarked  in  the  stage- box.  He  saw 
the  actor  help  the  ladies  into  their  carriage,  and 
heard  him  say,  as  he  took  Rosa's  hand  in  both  of  his, 
"A  thousand  thanks!  It  has  been  a  grand  success!" 
Then,  touching  his  hat,  he  left  them,  while  Living- 
stone followed,  with  his  eyes,  the  carriage  which  bore 
Rosa  rapidly  away. 
14? 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


HE  next  morning,  at  an  early  honr,  Mr.  Liv- 
ingstone left  Genoa  for  Florence.  He  reached 
the  latter  city  at  nightfall,  and  driving  at  once 
to  an  hotel,  made  a  hasty  toilet,  and  sallied 
forth  in  quest  of  Mary.  Florence  is  by  no  means  a  great 
capital,  and  it  was  not  many  minutes  before  he  found 
the  place  to  which  he  had  been  directed  by  Miss  Marl- 
boro's banker.  Learning,  upon  inquiry,  that  Miss  Marl- 
boro was  at  home,he  sent  up  word  that  a  gentleman  waited 
below,  who  desired  to  see  her  on  business.  Miss  Marl- 
boro bade  the  servant  say  that  she  would  be  obliged  if 
the  gentleman  would  step  up  to  her  salon.  Ernest  fol- 
lowed the  servant  immediately.  The  door  of  Miss  Marl- 
boro's room  had  been  left  ajar,  and  before  entering, 
Livingstone  caught  a  brief  glimpse  of  the  apartment. 
Mary  was  seated  in  an  ample  easy  chair,  which  had  been 
rolled  into  a  bay  window.  Her  face  was  slightly  averted, 
her  head  thrown  back,  listlessly,  and  her  whole  air  was 
expressive  of  languor.  At  the  approach  of  steps,  she 
turned,  saw  Ernest,  and  uttering  a  cry,  sank  back  in 
her  chair. 

"  Mary  1 "  he  said,  entering  quickly  and  kneeling  by 
her  side,  "  I  am  here ;  speak  to  me,  dearest !  " 

She  could  not  answer.    She  placed  her  hand  on  his 
head.    He  waited  for  her  to  speak. 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  323 

"Ernest,  it  was  kind  of  you  to  come! "  at  length  she 
whispered. 

Ernest  drew  her  gently  to  him. 

"  What  a  runaway  you  are ! "  he  said,  speaking  half 
mirthfully,  that  she  might  have  time  to  recover  her  com- 
posure. "Was  it  to-  make  a  knight-errant  of  me  in 
earnest,  or  did  you,  woman-like,  think  yourself  free  to 
fling  a  man  aside  when  once  you  had  tired  of  him  ? 
Where  was  your  conscience,  I  wonder,  meanwhile  ?  Do 
not  weep  so,  dearest  1  It  wrings  my  heart  1 " 

"  You  got  my  last  letter  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  The  letter  entrusted  to  your  sister  ? — Yes  ! — But 
you  must  confess  that  there  was  little  consolation  to  be 
found  in  it.  It  told  me  only  that  you  had  gone — fled — I 
knew  not  whither,  cruel  one  I " 

"  I  did  it  for  the  best,  Ernest,"  she  answered,  with  the 
truthful,  fearless  look  he  knew  so  well.  "  But  tell  me 
now,  how  you  traced  my  hiding-place  ?" 

"  That  is  my  secret !  All  I  will  reveal  is  this,  that 
since  I  found  a  clew,  I  have  traveled  day  and  night. 
And  do  you  know,  that  you  have  not  yet  given  me  a 
welcome.  Not  a  word  has  fallen  from  your  lips,  to  tell 
me  even  that  you  do  not  regr  t  my  coming." 

"  You  know  too  well  that  you  need  no  words,"  she 
said,  smiling  through  her  tears.  Then,  giving  way  to  her 
feelings,  she  added,  "  Oh,  Ernest,  how  blest  I  am — blest, 
beyond  the  power  of  words.  I  have  suffered  so  much — 
so  much !  I  think  my  courage  would  have  failed  me 
could  I  have  foreseen  the  misery  my  resolution  would 
cost  me.  I  thought  I  was  never  to  see  you  again — that  I 
had  lost  you  forever." 

"You  cannot  have  thought  so,"  he  answered.    "You 


324  THE  ITALIAN  GIRL. 

were  testing  your  own  heart  in  the  crucible  of  absence — 
not  mine ! " 

"  Ah,  Ernest!  How  good  of  you  to  come!  There  is 
no  night,  they  say,  so  dark  but  it  has  its  dawn.  I  little 
dreamed  when  I  looked  out  of  my  window  this  morning 
that"  my  dawn  would  come  so  soon.  Yet  it  seems  that 
all  the  gloom  was  in  my  own  eyes." 

"  You  fancied  your  indolent  Ernest  incapable  of  so 
much  effort — was  that  it,  dearest?  You  may  as  well 
confess  your  conviction  of  my  un worthiness." 

Mary  laughed. 

"How  pleasant  it  is  to  hear  you  laugh!  After 
all,  a  woman  is  never  so  beautiful  as  when  she  is 
happy ! " 

"  Poets,  however,"  she  answered,  archly,  "  proclaim 
tears  mightier  than  smiles  !  " 

"  Not  Byron,  certainly!  He  says  it  is  animation  that 
makes  you  queens  of  the  heart!  But  poets  are  erratic 
creatures,  and  never  know  exactly  what  they  want. 
They  live  in  dreams  !  " 

"Dreams  are  often  sweet,  Ernest!  I  am  dreaming 
now!" 

"  Of  what,  Mary  ?  " 

"  That  you  are  beside  me !  Will  you  not  vanish  when 
I  wake?" 

"It  is  because  I  do  not  mean  to  vanish,  that  I  am 
here — here  to  entreat  the  fulfillment  of  your  promise 
made  so  long  ago." 

"  What  promise  ? "  she  said,  trembling  in  spite  of 
ht-rself. 

"  Did  you  not  promise  to  be  my  wife  ?  " 

For  some  moments  Mary  did  not  answer.    At  length, 


THE  ITALIAN  GIRL.  325 

she  said,  while  the  color  mantled  her  face — "Ah,  let  me 
dream  a  little  longer,  Ernest  I " 

He  took  her  hand  kindly  in  his  own.  "  You  are  far 
away  from  your  home,"  he  said,  "in  a  foreign  land — 
where  you  may  be  expos.d  to  careless  words.  People 
are  ever  prone  to  be  censorious  ! " 

"  Do  you  mean  because  I  left  home  so  unexpectedly  ? 
But  no  one  ever  spoke  ill  of  me  in  my  life.  Let  us  wait 
a  little!"  she  said,  pleadingly.  "It  is  true  that  my  aunt 
is  not  here  now,  but  she  has  placed  ma  under  the  care 
of  the  American  Consul's  wife,  and  she  has  been  very 
kind  to  me." 

"  It  is  for  you  GO  name  the  day,  dearest  I "  he  answered, 
"  but  let  it  be  an  early  one  I" 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

ND  now,  for  Mary,  t  ie  days  flew  by  on  wings. 
The  greater  portion  of  her  time  was  passed  in 
wandering  over  Florence  with  Ernest.  Some- 
times they  would  sit  for  hours,  talking  of  the 
future,  and  the  past — on  the  stone  bench  where  Dante 
had  so  often  communed  with  Giotto,  gazing  with 
the  immortal  architect  on  the  beautiful  dome  of  his 
creation.  They  studied  long  at  the  gates  baptized  those 
of  Paradise,  and  Mary  felt  that  they  now  lay  open  to  her. 
Together,  Miss  Marlboro  and  her  lover  stood  enraptured 
before  the  noble  figure  of  the  Perseus,  but  the  Gorgon's 
head  in  the  young  hero's  grasp  could  not  freeze  her 
heart.  They  lingered  by  Titian's  Venus,  while  Mary 
half  confessed  the  goddess  not  unworthy  of  her  worship, 
and  that,  at  her  altar,  she  would  gladly  kindle  a  per- 
petual flame.  They  walked  together  amid  the  cool 
shadows  of  the  Boboli  gardens.  They  drove  in  the  soft 
twilight  on  the  Cascini. 

Never  had  Ernest  been  so  devoted  to  Mary,  for  he  felt 
the  keenest  remorse  for  the  sorrow  he  had  caused  hor. 
He  had  found  her  sadly  changed,  and  since  his  arrival 
had  watched  with  pleasure  the  glow  of  health  steal 
back  into  her  cheek.  He  had  sworn  to  himself  on  that 
first  evening  when  he  met  her  that  he  would  do  his  duly, 
and  although  his  heart  had  never  been  heavier,  he  had 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  327 

well  nigh  crushed  down  the  pain  and  achieved  the  con- 
quest of  himself. 

One  day,  while  they,  were  walking  together,  Mary 
said — "  Do  you  know,  Ernest,  that  you  were  in  Genoa 
on  the  very  night  when  Eosa  Thornton  made  her 
debut  on  the  stage.  Was  it  not  a  curious  coincidence  ? 
Yes,  reckoning  the  days  of  your  journey,  I  found 
that  you  must  have  arrived  there  the  previous  evening. 
Only  think,  if  you  had  known  it,  you  might  have 
seen  her." 

"  I  did  see  her." 

"  You  saw  her — where  ?  " 

" I  was  at  her  debut" 

"Ernest! — And  you  never  spoke  of  it!  Nothing 
would  have  interested  me  half  so  much.  It  must  be  that 
you  were  cruelly  disappointed  in  her — and  yet,  the  ac- 
counts of  her  appearance  were  so  brilliant.  Did  you  not 
like  her?  She  must  be  lovely/' 

"  I  thought  her  perfect !  I  never  have  seen  anything 
so  beautiful  on  the  stage  before !  She  left  nothing  to  he 
desired!" 

"  I  am  so  glad ! "  said  Mary,  clasping  her  hands ;  then 
she  added,  quickly,  "  but  why  did  you  never  speak  of  it 
before  ?  " 

"  We  had  so  much  to  talk  about." 

"  But,"  persisted  Mary, "  you  related  so  many  incidents 
of  your  stay  in  Genoa.  I  remember  your  account  of  the 
Correggio,  of  your  walk,  of  the  table  d'hote — it  is  strange 
you  should  have  forgotten  Eosa." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  some  time,  then  Mary 
said,  '-'If  you  had  but  mentioned  it,  Ernest!" 

"  Undoubtedly  I  should  have  done  so  had  any  partic- 


328  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

ular  incident  recalled  the  circumstance  to  my  mind ! 
But  look  dearest,  what  a  lovely  evening!" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  with  a  sigh,  "  it  is  lovely! " 

They  did  not  speak  again,  and  insti actively  their  steps 
turned  homeward.  "When  they  parted  they  knew  that 
a  shadow  had  fallen  across  their  path. 

A  few  days  passed — days  which,  although  I>Iary  could 
not  have  explained  precisely  why,  were  not  so  bright  as 
their  predecessors — there  was  something  intangible  she 
could  not  explain  to  herself — yet  she  felt  that  there  was 
a  sad  reality  in  it.  She  was  seated  in  her  apartment; 
musing  pensively,  and  awaiting  Ernest,  when  she  was 
aroused  by  a  gentle  knock  at  the  door. 

"Come  in!"  she  called  out,  gayly, .divining  who  it 
was.  The  door  opened,  but  instead  of  Ernest  a  young 
girl  entered.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  Mary  suppressed 
an  exclamation  of  disappointment.  She  hesitated  a  mo- 
ment, uncertain  who  it  was,  then  sprang  forward  and 
threw,  her  arms  about  Rosa  Thornton's  neck. 

" Is  it  indeed  you ?  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you!  I 
have  longed  so  eagerly  to  see  you  !  How  did  you  know 
that  I  was  here  ?" 

u  You  knew  of  my  appearance  on  the  stage  ?  "  asked 
Rosa. 

"  Of  course  I  did.     I  have  read  of  all  your  triumphs !  " 

"Salvini  was  engaged  only  for  a  month  in  Genoa. 
That  finished,  we  started  for  Florence." 

"  Where  you  are  playing?  " 

"Yes." 

"  But  you  have  not  told  me  how  you  knew  that  I  was 
here." 

"We  arrived  last  evening  at  our  hotel,  and  this  morn- 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  329 

ing  the  travelers'  list  was  sent  up  that  we  might  add 
jur  names.  I  had  the  curiosity  to  glance  at  the  foreign 
visitors,  and  the  very  first  name  I  lighted  on  was  yours. 
So,  as  soon  as  I  was  free  after  rehearsal,  I  took  a  coach  and 
drove  here.  Still,  I  had  some  misgivings  when  I  knocked 
at  your  door,  and  was  so  overcome  with  delight  at  find- 
ing it  was  really  you,  that  for  a  moment  I  could  not 
speak." 

"  Is  your  carriage  waiting  for  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  at  the  door  I  " 

"  Let  me  dismiss  it,  for  as  long  as  it  waits  I  shall  be 
in  dread  of  losing  you  every  moment." 

"Thank  you — nothing  would  give  me  greater  pleasure 
than  to  remain.  But  let  me  come  and  sit  down  beside 
you.  I  want  to  look  into  your  face." 

"  And  I  in  yours,"  said  Mary.  "  You  are  very  much 
changed,  and  yet,  when  I  look  at  you  closely,  I  find  the 
expression  I  remember  so  well." 

"You,  at  any  rate,  have  remained  the  same,"  said 
Rosa. 

"Havel?" 

Another  knock.  Mr.  Livingstone  entered,  and  re- 
cognizing Rosa,  changed  color.  Mary  noticed  this,  and 
it  made  her  heart  beat  fast.  Rosa  had  flushed  also,  but 
Miss  Marlboro  did  not  look  at  her,  having  eyes  only  for 
Ernest.  There  was  a  mixture  of  cordiality  and  hauteur 
in  the  manner  in  which  Rosa  put  out  her  hand. 

"It  is  long  since  I  have  seen  you,"  she  said.  How 
familiar  her  voice  sounded  to  his  ear!  He  smiled  as  he 
answered : 

"I  cannot  say  that!  I  have  seen  you  recently — at 
a  moment  when  you  little  dreamed  of  it." 


330  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

Rosa  looked  perplexed. 

"  It  ought  not  to  be  a  mystery  !  "  he  continued,  "  since 
you  are  destined,  in  the  career  you  have  chosen,  to  be 
often  seen  by  those  you  do  not  see! " 

Her  face  lighted — then  grew  mystified  again  as  she 
answered — "  But  Miss  Marlboro  told  me  she  had  not  seen 
me  on  the  stage." 

"  I  spoke  only  of  myself!  " 

"Pray  then,  where  did  you  see  me?" 

"At  Genoa,  on  the  night  of  your  debut!" 

"  Did  you  indeed  ?  "  said  Rosa,  her  face  radiant. 

"  "Were  you  not  very  much  frightened  ?  "  said  Mary. 
"  What  an  ordeal  it  must  have  been ! " 

"I  could  not  tell  you  what  my  sensations  were  pre- 
cisely, but  when  I  first  came  forward  on  the  stage,  and, 
hearing  the  clapping  of  hands,  courtesied  in  return,  I 
feared  that  I  might  not  be  able  to  regain  my  feet,  I  felt 
so  weak  !  At  first,  too,  when  I  began  to  recite,  I  could 
not  hear  my  own  voice — and  that  frightened  me.  I  looked 
around  and  saw  nothing  but  a  sea  of  upturned  faces 
which  made  me  think  of  that  description  in  the  '  In- 
ferno,' where  the  people  are  as  thick  as  leaves.  I  won- 
dered if  on  the  last  day  they  would  look  like  that,  and  if, 
in  the  crowd  we  should  recognize  our  friends;  all  this 
time  I  was  acting,  saying,  I  know  not  what." 

"  How  strange !  "  said  Mary. 

"Oh,  nol  I  had  learned  my  part  so  thoroughly,  that 
the  words  uttered  themselves,  otherwise  I  must  have 
failed ! " 

"  But  as  it  was,"  said  Mary,  "you  had  a  brilliant  suc- 
cess ! " 

"Ohl"  she  answered,  coloring,  and  casting  down  her 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  331 

eyes — how  well  Ernest  remembered  those  long  lashes 
sweeping  her  cheeks — "all  that  I  owe  to  my  dear 
teacher." 

"Is  she  with  you  now  ?  "  asked  Ernest. 

"Yes;  I  could  not  travel  without  her  protection.  I 
hope  you  will  both  of  you  make  her  acquaintance.  She 
lives  wholly  secluded  from  the  world,  and  sees  no  one, 
but  she  would  gladly,  I  am  sure,  make  an  exception  for 
friends  who  have  been  so  kind  to  me !  " 

"  I  should  be  delighted  to  meet  her,"  said  Mary.  "I 
have  heard  so  much  of  the  Countess  Malaspina,  she 
must  be  a  rarely  attractive  person." 

"She  is" — said  Eosa,  enthusiastically — "like  a  noble 
figure  in  alia  relievo  against  the  dull  background  of 
ordinary  people.  She  is  beautiful,  and  instinct  with 
genius.  But  some  great  sorrow  has  swept  over  her  life, 
and  left  it  cold  and  colorless  as  marble." 

"  I  have  seen  her ! "  said  Ernest. 

"Where,  pray?" 

"  At  the  theatre  the  same  night  I  saw  yon.  I  remem- 
ber her  perfectly.  Indeed,  she  is  too  striking  a  person, 
once  seen,  to  be  forgotten !  She  was  in  a  proscenium 
box,  unconscious,  evidently,  of  any  presence  save  yours  ! 
Once  she  leaned  forward  and  gazed  at  you  so  intently 
that  I  thought  she  meant  to  speak." 

"  Yep,  that  was  my  dear  countess !  I  am  glad  you 
saw  and  admired  her."  Then,  after  a  pause,  Km  said, 
"  Mr.  Livingstone,  tell  me  something  of  George !  I  am 
ashamed  to  have  seemed  forgetful  of  him  so  long." 

"  Poor  fellow  !  "  said  Mr.  Livingstone,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Why  do  you  speak  so  sadly  ?  Has  anything  hap- 
pened to  him?" 


332  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"  Nothing  more  can  befall  him  !  " 

"  Then  he  is  dead!"  she  said,  with  quivering  lips. 

"  Yes,  George  is  dead ! " 

"  And  his  poor  mother  ?    "What  has  become  of  her  ?  " 

"He  died  from  exposure  during  his  mother's  last  ill- 
ness." 

"  Both  dead !  Oh,  that  I  might  hare  seen  him — to 
say  one  friendly  word ! " 

"  His  last  thought  was  for  you.  Just  before  he  died 
he  sent  for  me.  He  seemed  so  uneasy  that  I  asked  him 
if  there  was  anything  I  could  do  for  him.  His  face 
lighted,  and  putting  his  poor  wasted  hand  beneath  the 
pillow,  he  drew  out  a  parcel  which  he  handed  me,  say- 
ing, '  You'll  give  it  to  Miss  Rosa.  It's  my  cap  and  bells ! 
You'll  see  she  gets  it  some  day;  it  don't  much  matter 
when,  but  some  day!  I  know  she'll  not  despise  them, 
for  you'll  tell  her  they  were  all  I  had ;  and  you'll  tell  her 
that  I  would  have  got  her  a  little  present,  but  I  drew  out 
all  my  savings  when  my  mother  died.'  When  I  pro- 
mised to  carry  out  his  wishes,  he  put  his  hand  in  mine 
and  said,  '  Thank  you,  sir — a  great  weight  is  off  my 
mind.' » 

"  Have  you  kept  them  for  me  ?  "  said  Rosa,  in  a  falter- 
ing voice. 

"  I  have  treasured  them  with  religious  care,  but  I  have 
left  them  in  New  York.  I  hardly  expected  to  see  you  so 
soon." 

They  were  all  silent  for  some  moments.  Mr.  Living- 
stone was  thinking  of  George's  last  words — words  which 
he  had  not  told  Rosa.  The  px>r  fellow's  last  wish  had 
been  that  they  might  he  united. 

Rosa  looked  at  her  watch.    She  rose. 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  333 

"  I  fear,"  she  said,  "that  the  countess  will  be  anxious. 
Might  I  trouble  you,"  she  turned  to  Mary,  "  to  ring  and 
order  me  a  carriage  ?  " 

"  Oh,  do  not  leave  me  so  soon !  "  said  Mary. 

"  Indped,  I  wish  I  might  remain ;  bub  I  think  I  ought 
to  go.  It  is  growing  dark." 

"  "Will  you  not  accept  Mr.  Livingstone's  escort  ?  "  said 
Mary. 

"  Thank  you,"  Eosa  answered,  with  some  embarrass- 
ment. "I  would  not  willingly  trouble  Mr.  Living- 
stone." 

"  But,"  persist  d  Mary,  "  I  could  not  permit  you  to  go 
alone,  even  if  you  drive  home.  Ernest,  will  you  not  offer 
your  services  to  Miss  Thornton  ?  " 

"It  will  certainly  give  me  much  pleasure  if  Miss 
Thornton  will  avail  herself  of  them." 

Rosa  bent  her  head  in  assent.  "  Good-by,  then,"  she 
said,  "  and  do  not  fail  to  come  and  see  me ! " 

"  I  will  surely  call  on  you,"  Mary  answered.  "  Good- 
by  ! "  She  followed  them  to  the  stairs,  gave  one  hasty 
look  at  Ernest,  bade  her  visitor  again  good-night,  then 
listening  to  their  retreating  steps  until  they  could  be 
heard  no  longer,  turned  back  into  her  parlor,  and  throw- 
ing herself  upon  a  sofa,  burst  into  tears. 

When  Livingstone  and  Rosa  reached  the  street  the 
former  offered  his  arm.  She  took  it,  and  for  a  few  min- 
utes they  walked  on  in  silence.  Both  were  preoccupied 
— he  recalling  the  last  occasion  when  her  arm  had  rested 
on  his  own — that  sunny  morning  on  the  steamer — Rosa 
thinking  of  George,  and  the  poor  clown's  fate,  with 
which  a  score  of  memories  linked  themselves.  It  was  she 
who  first  broke  the  silence. 


334  THE  ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"  And  Bruno  ?  "  she  said.  "  But  'I  am  almost  afraid 
to  ask  for  him.  He,  too,  may  be  dead." 

"I  saw  Bruno  just  before  leaving  New  York.  He  is 
the  same  noble  animal  you  knew !  " 

"Do  you  think  I  could  buy  him  back?  Not  a  day 
has  passed  since  we  parted — Bruno  and  I — that  I  have 
not  remembered  him  most  fondly." 

"I  believe,"  he  answered,  "it  would  be  the  easiest 
thing  in  the  world  to  regain  Bruno.  He  shall  be  at  your 
disposal,  if  you  wish,  within  three  mouths  at  the  latest.  I 
will  write  and  have  him  shipped  immediately." 

"  You,  Mr.  Livingstone  ?  " 

"Yes;  Bruno  belongs  to  me — he  is  a  grand  animal — 
and  I  love  him  almost  as  well  as  his  mistress  does  !  " 

"It  is  to  you,  then,  that  I  owe  a  second  debt  of  grati- 
tude ! " 

"  You  owe  me  nothing.  It  would  wound  Bruno's 
pride  to  imagine  that  he  had  placed  you  under  obligation 
to  any  one." 

"Dear  Bruno!  No,  Mr.  Livingstone,  keep  him!  He 
could  not  well  have  a  kinder  master.  How  strange  it 
seems.  First  I  owe  to  my  horse  all  I  now  am.  Bruno, 
you  and  the  countess  made  me  an  artist — what  an  odd 
triumvirate  ! " 

She  looked  up  at  Mr.  Livingstone.  He  caught  her 
glance — her  eyes  fell. 

"I  am  glad  you  saw  me  in  Francesca  di  Rimini,"  she 
said,  hurriedly.  "  Did  you  like  the  piece?" 

"You  were  perfect  in  it!"  he  answered,  quietly. 

"  Why  did  you  not  make  yourself  known  to  me?  It 
was  not  a  very  friendly  act  to  pass  through  Genoa  like  a 
stranger,  wrapped  in  your  incognito." 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  335 

"I  fancied  that  amid  the  excitement  of  a  debut,  a 
friend  would  have  no  claim  upon  you ! " 

"  You  imagined,  I  fear,  that  an  Italian  is  incapable  of 
an  American's  loyalty.  But  it  was  just  as  well,  perhaps, 
that  you  avoided  me  at  that  time,"  said  Eosa,  a  faint 
shadow  of  resentment  flitting  over  her  face. 

"  When  do  you  appear  on  the  stage  in  Florence  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  evening." 

"In  whatrofe?" 

"  Virginia  1  I  do  not  much  like  the  part,  but  I  am 
obliged  to  play  what  Salvini  chooses." 

Mr.  Livingstone  looked  grave.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "I 
suppose  that  is  inevitable — but  if  he  should  request  you 
to  take  a  part  repugnant  to  your  feelings  ?  " 

"  I  should  refuse !  "  she  answered  quickly.  "  I  am 
free  to  break  my  contract  with  him  if  I  please!" 

"  Are  you  acquainted  with  the  actresses  and  actors  who 
take  part  in  the  same  plays  ?  " 

"Very  slightly!  If  there  are  any  whose  appearance  I 
like,  I  can,  of  course,  form  their  acquaintance,  but  as  a 
rule  those  assigned  to  subordinate  parts  are  not  artists. 
They  act  for  their  livelihood,  not  from  any  love  of  the 
vocation,  and  unless  acting  is  conscientiously  studied,  it 
is  one  of  the  least  laborious  of  professions;  these  people 
are  almost  certain  of  not  rising,  for  their  talent  is  easily 
measured.  Salvini  holds  the  strings,  and  they  move  as 
he  tells  them,  like  so  many  puppets." 

"  And  do  you  like  your  profession  ?  I  mean,  knowing 
what  you  now  do,  would  you  choose  it  ?  " 

"Yes;  I  love  my  profession.  It  has  been  my  friend 
when  I  was  alone  and  unbefriended — it  gave  me  hope 
when  I  was  hopeless !  Would  you  not  love  anything 


336  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

that  had  freed  you  from  the  worst  of  enemies — self-con- 
tempt? Would  it  not  have  even  a  personal  dearness 
for  you  ?  " 

"  It  might,"  he  replied,  moodily. 

"How  lovely  the  Arno  looks!"  she  said,  stopping  a 
moment  to  Jean  over  the  bridge  they  were  crossing,  '•'  like 
a  silver  thread  run  through  the  stars — see  them  shim- 
mering on  its  surface.  Life,  to  the  eye  of  youth,  is  but 
a  chord  that  binds  together  days  of  glory." 

"  Aye,  but  no  sooner  does  truth  dawn,  than  she  puts 
out  these  bright  eyes  of  hope  and  faith." 

"I  would  not  readily  believe  that  it  is  always  so  ! "  she 
answered.  •  "  I  grant  that  one  is  often  defeated,  yet  it  is 
something  to  have  fought  in  a  good  cause.  It  is  well,  at 
least,  to  die  in  armor." 

"That  is  true,"  he  said;  "that  is  indeed  true." 

"  I  never  pass  this  bridge  at  night,"  said  Rosa,  "  but 
there  arises  before  me  the  figure  of  Buondelmonte.  I  see 
him  as  if  he  were  really  there,  mounted  on  a  grand  horse, 
just  parted  from  his  fond  betrothed,  when  the  fatal 
charms  of  the  beautiful  daughter  of  the  Donati  lure 
him  from  his  honor;  his  hasty  secret  marriage  with  her 
— and  then,  as  he  repasses  this  place,  bearing  proudly  his 
new  conquest  in  his  heart,  the  brothers  of  his  betrayed 
love,  who  spring  upon  him  and  leave  him  weltering  in 
his  blood;  the  body  that  beat  so  full  of  life  a  moment 
before,  borne  back  dead  to  his  young  wife;  it  is  one  of 
the  most  picturesque  scenes  of  the  middle  ages." 

Livingstone  looked  at  his  companion,  and  remember- 
ing one  who  was  waiting  at  home  for  him,  Rosa  seem  d 
to  him  the  fatal  charmer  who  was  to  lure  away  his  soul. 
Never.  It  should  not  be ! 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  337 

"  Every  stone^"  he  said,  "  of  Florence  might  rise  up 
and  tell  a  history.  But  my  favorite  haunt  is  San  Mini- 
ato,  where  the  great  spirit  of  Michael  Angelo  defended 
liberty  in  her  last  stronghold!  There  is  a  simplicity 
and  an  air  of  repose  about  that  little  chapel,  as  if  the 
calm  soul  of  the  great  master  yet  brooded  over  it.  It  is 
the  only  Catholic  church  where  I  have  felt  a  genuine 
religious  awe.  All  others  seem  to  me  but  the  trap- 
pings of  religion.  There  lies  its  heart !  " 

"Shall  you  remain  long  in  Italy  ?"  asked  Eosa. 

"I  do  not  know.  I  have  no  definite  plans.  Is  this 
your  hotel,  Miss  Thornton  ?" 

"Yes,  will  you  not  come  in?"  she  said,  looking  up 
into  his  face.  She  could  not  help  that  look.  Ifccol- 
lect'ons  of  the  old  life  had  crowded  back  upon  her  mind, 
and  with  them  came  the  memory  of  the  old  pain.  She 
could  not  have  explained  the  strange  sentiment  which  she 
felt  for  Mr.  Livingstone.  She  could  not  dislike  him,  and 
yet  she  felt  as  if  he  had  robbed  her  life  of  its  morning 
bloom. 

''  No,  I  cannot  come  in,  thank  you.    Good-night ! " 

"  Good-night! "  returned  Ro.sa.  As  she  went  slowly  up 
the  stairs  which  led  to  Helena's  apartment,  she  said  to 
her  own  heart :  "  Would  to  God  I  had  never  seen  him ! " 

Mr.  Livingstone  turned  back  to  Mary's  hotel,  for  he 
knew  she  was  awaiting  him,  and  it  was  yet  early.  He 
knocked  at  her  door,  but  she  did  not  hear  him.  He 
opened  it — there  sat  Mary,  her  face  buried  in  her  hands ! 
— she  had  been  weeping!  Hearing  his  step,  she  looked 
up  suddenly,  and  instinctively  he  drew  back. 

"Come  in,  Ernest!"  she  said,  "I  am  glad  you  re- 
turned. Come  and  sit  down  by  me — I  want  to  speak  to 
15 


838  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

you."  He  drew  a  chair  close  to  hers.  "  Ernest ! "  she 
said,  looking  fixedly  in  his  face,  "  there  is  but  one  per- 
son in  the  world  whom  I  entirely  trust — I  mean  by  that, 
who  I  know  would  never  fail  me — whose  honor  could 
not  swerve!  Remember  this,  that  I  will  never  accept 
your  pity.  I  am  strong  enough  not  to  need  it.  I  love 
you — it  were  vain  to  deny  it — and  now  answer  me,  as 
you  will  answer  at  the  last  day — Do  you  love  me  wholly  ? 
Is  there  no  image  of  another  rising  now,  as  it  has  risen 
in  the  past,  between  us  ?  I  appeal  to  your  honor  for  an 
answer." 

Mr.  Livingstone  turned  pale.     He  was  silent 

"Ernest,  speak  to  me!  My  eternal  happiness  hangs 
on  what  you  say — but  not  my  eternal  misery — so  much 
I  promise  you ! " 

" Mary,"  he  said,  "I  am  no  dastard.  I  hold  the  truth 
good  to  be  told,  no  matter  what  pain  it  carries  with  it 
I  have  done  you — but  unwittingly — a  great  wrong!  I 
have  loved  another  ever  since  my  eyes  lighted  on  her 
face ;  but  believe  that  this  which  I  now  say  to  you  I 
never  said  before,  even  to  myself.  I  have  never  con- 
sciously feigned  an  affection  I  did  not  feel!" 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  after  a  moment's  silence,  "I 
believe  you,  and  my  heart  feels  lighter  than  it  has  felt 
for  months!  "  She  held  out  her  hand,  "I  will  be  your 
friend,"  she  said.  He  took  her  hand  in  his,  and  pressed 
it  reverently  to  his  lips.  "Good-night,"  she  said,  "and 
remember  that  it  will  be  my  happiest  hour  when  you 
come  to  me  and  say,  "  Mary,  I  am  happy!" 

A  tear  fell  from  Ernest's  eyes  on  the  hand  which  he 
still  held  in  his.  Mary  smiled  up  at  him,  "Good-night," 
she  repeated,  "and  God  bless  you,  Ernest" 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

HE  next  day  Mary  called  on  Rosa.  She  had 
said  to  Ernest,  "  I  will  be  your  friend  !  "  and 
she  had  determined  that  she  would  be  so  in 
the  truest  sense  of  the  word.  She  was  ush- 
ered into  the  countess's  salon,  where  she  found  Rosa 
alone.  Rosa  was  somewhat  pale,  but  as  she  came  for- 
ward quickly  to  meet  her  visitor,  Mary  thought  she  had 
never  seen  her  look  more  beautiful.  "  I  do  not  wonder," 
she  said  to  herself,  while  a  pang  shot  through  her  heart, 
"  I  do  not  wonder  that  he  loves  her." 

"  You  see  I  am  prompt  to  fulfill  my  promise,"  Mary 
said.  *?I  felt  an  irresistible  desire  to  see  you  again, 
and,  indeed,  since  the  first  night  I  saw  you,  I  have  been 
strangely  drawn  to  you.  I  had  a  prophetic  instinct  that 
I  should  one  day  know  you." 

"  And  yet,"  answered  Rosa,  smiling,  "  nothing,  in 
those  days,  was  more  improbable  !  Do  you  know  I  can- 
not bear  to  look  back — not  that  I  am  ashamed  of  my 
past  life,  but  the  remembrance  of  the  pain  I  suffered 
for  years  weighs  on  my  spirit  like  a  nightmare." 

"That  is  natural,"  said  Mary;  "it  is  hard  to  have 
the  recollections  of  years  so  fraught  with  pain :  one  would 
erase  them  utterly." 

"Ever  since  I  received  your  letter,"  said  Rosa,  "in 
which  you  spoke  of  your  engagement  to  Mr.  Livingstone, 


340  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

I  have  fancied  that  we  should  meet  again."  Rosa  felt 
relieved  when  she  had  said  these  words.  It  had  cost  her 
a  struggle  to  utter  them. 

Mary  drew  a  long  breath.  She,  too,  was  glad  Rosa 
had  spoken.  She  had  promised  herself  not  to  go  before 
she  had  explained  the  precise  state  of  her  relations  with 
Mr.  Livingstone.  But  when  would  she  find  the  courage 
to  speak?  How  could  she  pronounce  his  name  ?  H<>w 
approach  a  topic  fraught  with  such  acute  suffering  ?  But 
Rosa  had  led  the  way,  and  she  must  go  on  !  Her  hoart 
was  beating  fast  and  loud,  and  it  seemed  impossible  to 
her  that  her  voice  should  not  betray  her  agitation.  Pres- 
ently, however,  with  a  quietness  that  astonished  herselt, 
she  said: 

"  I  am  not  engaged  to  Mr.  Livingstone." 

Rosa  looked  up  quickly,  but  did  not  speak.  Mary 
understood  her  glance  of  questioning  surprise,  and  re- 
plied to  it.  "  "When  I  wrote  you,"  she  said,  '•'  I  was 
engaged  to  him,  but  that  was  long  ago.  Mr.  Livingstone 
is  one  of  my  best  and  truest  friends,  and,  I  trust,  will 
ever  remain  such.  That,"  she  said,  smiling,  "is  the 
only  engagement  which  exists  between  us." 

For  a  moment  Rosa  felt  bewildered.  She  heard 
strange  music  in  her  ears,  and  the  words,  "  He  is  free, 
then ! "  were  sounding  and  resounding  in  her  heart. 

"  You  look  incredulous!"  said  Mary,  "  but  I  speak  the 
truth!" 

"  Oh,  no  !  But  I  confess  you  surprise  me,  finding  you 
both  in  Italy  just  as  I  had  often  hoped  to  meet  you." 

Mary  colored.  To  conceal  her  embarrassment  she 
was  fain  to  speak  of  other  things.  She  looked  around 
her.  "  How  quiet  you  are  here — and  you  are  to  exchange 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  341 

this  for  the  stage,  to-night?  Who,  seeing  your  com- 
posure, would  believe  that  in  a  few  hours  you  will  be 
the  cynosure  of  every  eye — that  the  applause  of  the  city 
will  be  at  your  command ! " 

"But  thou  hast  chosen  the  better  part,"  Rosa  an- 
swered, smiling.  "Believe  me,  the  heart  prospers  no 
more  amidst  this  clamor  for  success,  than  can  flowers 
grow  in  the  dust  of  the  city.  A  tranquil  life  is  where 
the  sweetest  virtues  bloom — and  that  portion  will  be 
yours!  You  will  go  to  the  theatre  and  see  me  play, 
this  evening,  will  you  not  ?  " 

"  That,  I  regret  to  say,  will  not  be  in  my  power,  for  I 
leave  Florence  this  afternoon  !" 

"  Oh,  I  am  very  sorry !  I  supposed,  when  I  saw  you 
yesterday,  that  you  were  fixed  in  Florence  for  some  time. 
Shall  you  be  long  away  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  going,  for  a  few  weeks,  to  Rome — to  some 
American  friends  who  are  staying  there." 

Rosa  wondered  whether  Mr.  Livingstone  would  be  one 
of  the  party— but  she  only  said : 

"  And  in  a  few  weeks  you  will  return  ?  Who  knows — 
I  may  still  be  here.  Unhappily,  I  cannot  foresee  my 
movements,  for  they  depend  but  little  on  myself." 

"  Might  I  have  the  pleasure,  before  I  go,"  said  Mary, 
"  of  seeing  your  friend,  the  countess  ?  It  would  give  me 
pleasure' to  make  the  acquaintance  of  one  who  is  so  dear 
to  you ! " 

"  You  will  pardon  my  not  disturbing  her/'  said  Rosa, 
"  she  is  not  at  all  well  of  late.  I  forgot  that  yesterday, 
when  I  asked  you  to  come  and  see  her.  Every  day  since 
we  left  Genoa,  her  spirits  have  become  more  depressed. 
Sometimes  I  fear  she  has  made  too  great  a  sacrifice  of  her 


342  THE    ITALIAN   GIRL. 

tastes  and  habits,  for  I  am  sure  she  misses  keenly  her 
home,  with  all  its  associations." 

"I  can  perfectly  understand  that,"  said  Mary,  with  a 
deep  sigh.  "  It  is  natural."  She  rose. 

"  Do  not  leave  me,"  said  Rosa,  beseechingly,  "  you  do 
not  know  how  lonesome  I  am — how  little  companionship 
I  have !  It  has  been  such  a  delight  to  meet  you,  and 
now  must  we  part  so  soon  ?  " 

"  We  shall  meet  again,"  said  Mary;  "  I  feel  sure  that 
the  kind  waves  of  destiny  will  throw  us  together  again. 
Nothing,  I  believe,  is  accidental  in  this  world.  Good- 
by  ! " — and  she  drew  Rosa  toward  her,  and  kissed  her. 

"  Farewell !  "  said  Rosa,  affectionately,  returning  her 
embrace.  "  Remember,  I  shall  look  for  you  impatiently 
every  day,  until  you  come." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

S"  the  same  evening  during  which  poor  Mary 
was  being  borne  away  from  the  being  she  most 
loved  on  earth,  Rosa  made  her  debut  on  the 
Florentine  stage.  She  achieved  a  success 
complete  as  that  which  crowned  her  first  effort  at  Genoa. 
The  question  she  had  asked  herself  all  day — Will 
Mr.  Livingstone  be  there,  or  has  he,  too,  left  Florence? 
w.is  soon  answered.  She  had  not  been  long  upon  the 
stage  before  she  distinguished  his  face.  He  was  far  off,  at 
the  furthest  corner  of  the  theatre,  but  she  could  see  that 
his  eyes  followed  her  every  motion.  But,  alas !  she  could 
not  answer  his  gaze.  They  were  separated,  as  they  ever 
were,  by  a  thousand  barriers.  As  she  went  to  her  coach, 
after  the  play  was  over,  she  glanced  around  in  the  hope 
of  seeing  him — but  in  vain,  and  that  night  Rosa  felt 
more  lonely  than  ever. 

The  countess  had  been  accustomed  to  accompany 
her  to  and  from  the  theatre,  and  afterward,  before  re- 
tiring for  the  night,  they  would  talk  over  the  events 
of  the  evening.  Of  late,  she  had  ceased  to  do  this,  and 
the  omission  had  given  her  young  friend  great  pain. 
Especially  during  the  last  few  days  which  they  had 
passed  at  Florence,  had  the  countess  withdrawn -from 
the  society  of  her  protegee. 

Rosa  did  not  believe  that  Helena's  interest  in  her  sue- 


344  THE    ITALIAN  GIRL. 

cess  was  less  fervent,  but  she  had  remarked  that  the 
restlessness  of  manner,  always  noticeable  in  the  couutcs*, 
had  greatly  grown  upon  her.  Was  it  that  the  excite 
raent  of  Rosa's  debut  fairly  over,  all  the  painful 
recollections  of  her  former  life  had  returned  to  vex 
and  plague  her?  All  was  conjecture — what  ailed  her 
friend,  Rosa  knew  not — but  she  longed,  she  yearned  to 
comfort  her. 

Sometimes,  on  her  return  from  the  theatre,  Rosa  would 
send  their  maid  to  bed,  and  then,  sleepless  with  appre- 
hension, steal  on  tiptoe  to  the  countess's  room,  to  listen 
if  all  were  quiet  there.  Once  she  heard  a  suppressed 
moan,  which  made  her  heart  ache,  and  would  have 
drawn  her  instantly  to  her  friend's  side — but  there 
was  in  Helena,  when  most  troubled,  a  repelling  dignity 
which  made  sympathy  seem  intrusion.  It  was  as  if  she 
said,  "  Leave  me  to  myself;  I  am  strong  enough  to  suffer 
alone." 

They  were  seated  together  one  evening  at  this  period, 
when,  after  a  protracted  silence,  Rosa,  whose  eyes  had 
been  bent  upon  her  bwk,  while  her  thoughts  were  busy 
with  her  friend,  glancing  up,  suddenly  beheld  such  a 
look  of  anguish  on  Helena's  face,  that  she  threw  her  book 
aside,  and  going  over  to  the  countess — "  Dear  signora," 
she  said,  "  I  can  bear  no  longer  to  witness  your  suffering 
and  feel  myself  powerless  to  console  yon.  Oh,  speak  to 
me ;  tell  me,  I  entreat  you,  what  it  is  that  renders  you 
so  unhappy  ?  Some  great  trouble,  I  am  sure,  weighs  on 
your  mind.  At  night,  as  I  have  passed  your  door,  I 
have  listened  with  a  throbbing  heart  to  your  low  sighs. 
Oh,  pardon  me,  it  is  because  I  truly  love  you  that  I  have 
so  longed  to  thrust  open  the  door  which  divided  us,  and 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  345 

eay,  'Be  comforted,  you  are  not  alone!'  But  I  have  not 
dared.  In  vain  have  I  asked  myself  a  thousand  ques- 
tions. Is  she  ill  ?  Has  she  grown  cold  to  me  ?  Can 
she  imagine  that  my  poor  success  could  veil  her  assured 
laurels?  Signora — if  you  love  me — «p^ak  to  me!" 

H-'lena  shook  her  head — a  groan  escaped  her.  It 
spoke  of  so  much  pent-up  misery,  that  Rosa  could  re- 
strain herself  no  longer,  and  cast  her  arms  about  hei 
friend. 

"Oh,  signora!"  she  said,  "it  will  kill  you  to  suffer 
alone.  Let  me  enter,  at  least,  the  outer  chamber  of 
your  heart — I  do  not  ask  to  look  into  its  grave  ! " 

"  A  grave  I  "  said  Helena,  shuddering.  "  Yes,  there 
is  indeed  a  grave  !  " 

"  Keep  that  closed  from  me  forever,  if  you  will,"  said 
Ro?a,  cla«ping  her  hands,  "but  do  not  refuse  my  sym- 
pathy. I  should  feel  less  lonely  if  I  might  divide  your 
sorrows  with  you.*' 

"Look  there!"  said  Helena,  taking  from  her  bosom 
a  large  locket  set  in  brilliants.  "  There  lies  the  secret 
of  my  guilt — of  my  eternal  misery!  which  no  tears  can 
wash  away — no  time  can  heal ! "  She  handed  Rosa  a 
miniature  of  a  young  man.  Rosa  gazed  in  wonder  at  its 
beauty.  The  features  were  perfect  in  their  regularity ; 
the  hair  was  parted  in  waving  brown  locks  upon  a  fair 
brow;  the  fringed  gentian  could  not  rival  his  eyes;  and 
the  lips,  shaded  by  delicate  mustaches,  were  full  and  red. 

Helena  watched  with  jealous  solicitude  the  impression 
made  on  Rosa  by  the  picture.  "  Is  he  not  beautiful  ?  " 
she  said,  under  her  breath. 

"  He  is,  indeed,  beautiful ! — was  he  your  husband  ?  " 

"  He  was  my  husband." 
15* 


346  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"Did  he  die?"  Rosa  asked,  for  she  knew  nothing  of 
Helena's  history  so  far  as  it  was  concerned  with  her 
married  life. 

"  He  died,"  said  Helena,  slowly ;  "I  killed  him!" 

"  "What  do  you  mean,  signora?  "  gasped  Eosa. 

"  I  mean — that  I  murdered  him  !  " 

Rosa's  eyes  were  fastened  upon  her  friend's  face,  as  if 
they  would  penetrate  her  soul.v 

"I  am  not  insane,"  continued  Helena;  "I  destroyed 
that  beauty  before  the  worms  could  get  at  it.  They  prey 
in  vain  upon  my  darling  now.  Oh,  Mimo !  oh,  Mimo! 
Pardon,  pardon  ! "  she  cried,  sinking  on  her  knees  before 
the  picture,  and  pressing  it  passionately  to  her  lips.  "I 
will  tell  you  all,  Rosa !  I  shall  go  mad  if  I  do  not  speak. 
No  priest  holds  my  secret— nor  ever  shall.  Before  I 
killed  him,  I  was  a  Catholic — then  I  ceased  to  be  any- 
thing. Man  cannot  give  absolution  to  a  lost  soul.  Not 
even  God  would  absolve  me!  It  was  for  him  alone  to 
tike  the  life  he  gave,  but  I  would  not  await  his  will. 
I  closed  those  eyes.  I  stilled  those  lips  forever.  I  blot- 
ted out  a  life  before  its  time."  Her  breath  went  and 
came  convulsively — "  I  sent  that  soul  to  judgment  before 
God  summoned  it." 

"  Signora,  for  pity's  sake,  calm  yourself! "  cried  Rosa, 
who  felt  her  own  blood  freezing  in  her  veins. 

"  Speak  not  to  me  of  calm.  I  know  no  calm — a  surging 
restlessness,  a  gnawing  agony,  a  low  moan  ever  in  my 
heart,  on  my  lips  silence — that  is  my  endless  doom! 
Rosa,  I  loved  him — do  you  know  what  it  is  to  love? 
— all  the  meaning  that  lies  in  that  one  word  ? 

"I  tell  you  that  I  never  heard  his  footstep  but  my 
heart  leapt,  like  a  thing  alive,  to  meet  it;  his  voice  never 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  347 

Bounded  in  my  ear  but  ib  thrilled  like  lightning  through 
me ;  I  never  saw  him  without  loving  him  more  deeply, 
dearly,  than  before.  I  loved  his  beauty,  his  mind,  his 
soul,  all  things  in  him,  and  about  him.  The  very  air 
he  breathed  was  nectar  to  me. 

"Ah,  many  had  admired — many  had  courted  me !  No 
one  satisfied  me.  So  I  gave  pain  for  weariness,  contented 
to  receive  little  and  bestow  nothing.  Then  he  came — and 
my  past  -heartlessuess  was  chastized,  and  I  drank  to  the 
dregs  the  cup  of  woe  which  I  had  commended  to  others' 
lips.  The  lees  are  bitter,  Rosa!  It  was  here,  in  Flo- 
rence, that  we  met.  Oh,  it  has  done  me  good  to  speak. 
It  has  cooled  the  fire  here  I"  She  put  hei  hand  to  her 
head.  "I  can  never  free  myself  from  the  memory  of 
that  night  when  I  saw  him  first.  It  haunts  me !  I  was 
playing  *  The  Deserted  Physician ' — you  will  act  the 
Bume  part  one  day,  and  then  I  will  come  once  more  to 
the  theatre,  and,  looking  upon  you,  dream  over  that 
sweet  dream." 

'•  Tell  me,  signora,"  said  Eosa,  seeking  to  change  the 
direction  of  the  countess's  thoughts,  "  tell  me  something 
of  the  part  you  played  in  that  drama/' 

"  I  cannot  recall  it,"  she  answered,  in  a  hollow  voice; 
"it  is  blurred  before  my  mind,  it  was  all  real  to  me  then. 
I  remember  only  that  Salvini  was  the  physician  Avhose 
wife  Lad  abandoned  him — that  I  had  thrown  myself  on 
my  knees  to  implore  his  forgiveness;  that  in  my  agony, 
my  head  fell  iiuconsciously  upon  his  foot.  He  withdrew 
it,  as  if  something  had  stung  him.  I  heard  a  groan  ;  it 
came  from  some  one  among  the  audience.  I  looked  up, 
and  beheld — for  the  first  time — his  face!  lie  had  been 
standing  near  the  orchestra,  at  my  right — he  was  start- 


348  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

ing  forward,  his  eyes  fixed  intently  on  my  features.  The 
expression  of  his  face  pierced  my  heart  like  a  knife.  Oh, 
God!  I  see  and  feel  it  still!"  She  paused  a  mom<  nt, 
and  then  proceeded.  "  I  felt  my  strength  fail  me  in  that 
moment.  Throughout  the  remainder  of  the  act,  I  knew 
that  look  was  pursuing  me,  although  I  did  not  dare  to 
glance  at  him  again.  The  curtain  fell,  as  Salvini  after- 
ward told  me,  amid  applause,  but  I  heurd  nothing.  I  was 
called  out,  and  above  the  reiterated  'Bis! — Bis! !  I  heard 
one  '  Brava! '  I  could  hardly  go  through  with  the  lust 
act — the  death  of  the  heroine  occurs  in  the  last  scene. 
Oh,  it  comes  back  to  me  now  I  that  my  last  words,  as  I 
sank  into  Salviui's  arms,  were — 'Thank  God  I  am  not 
alone ! ' 

"As  soon  as  the  act  was  finished,  I  hastened  to  my 
room,  begging  Salvini  to  excuse  me  to  the  public.  He  came 
to  my  dressing-room  soon  afterward,  with  his  arms  full 
of  flowers.  Among  tht-se,  was  a  bunch  of  forget  me- 
nots.  Attached  to  this,  I  found  a  card,  inscribed,  '  No, 
thou  art  not  alone!'  Salvini  escorted  me,  as  was  his 
custom,  to  my  carriage.  We  passed  to  it  through  a  group 
of  young  men.  He  was  there.  I  inclined  my  head. 
His  flowers  were  in  my  hand. 

"The  next  morning,  Count  Mala?pina  called.  'Never 
have  I  seen  so  beautiful  a  man.  To  beauty  of  person  lie 
united  grace  of  manner  and  infinite  charm  of  conver- 
sation. He  had  everything  that  could  take  captive  a 
woman's  imagination.  When  he  left  me  that  day  my 
heart  was  no  longer  in  my  keeping. 

"The  count  was  not  rich — as  for  me,  I  was  supported 
by  my  profession.  He  was  noble — I  was  of  humble 
birth.  But  we  loved  one  anoth.  r — I  loved  him  to 


THE    ITALIAN   GIRL.  349 

madness — and  wo  were  betrothed.  For  me,  the  earth 
"was  transfigured  from  that  hour;  all  the  air  was  filled 
with  fragrance  and  sunlight ;  the  v<  17  birds  sang  louder 
and  more  gladly  than  before!  Life  was  so  sweet! — so 
BAveet !  When  I  acted,  I  felt  inspired,  a  sacred  fire 
burned  within  me,  the  public  greeted  me  every  night 
with  new  enthusiasm. 

"  We  were  married !  Married  I  What  curse  lay  in 
that  word  to  turn  my  bliss  to  gall  ?  I  sat  at  his  feet, 
and  told  him  how  I  worshiped  him,  and  all  day  long 
drank  in  his  beauty.  I  kissed  his  violet  tinted  eyes 
when  he  slept — he  was  my  Endymion  ! 

"  But,  after  a  time,  he  grew  harsh — unkind.  He 
was  jealous  of  me.  Everything  I  did  upon  the  stage 
— every  word,  every  glance — he  caviled  at.  I  was  no 
longer  free.  I  feared  to  move,  to  think,  to  feel.  Then 
gradually  I  lost  my  inspiration.  I  was  so  weary  with 
we-p;ng — so  racked  by  his  constant  reproaches,  that 
often,  when  night  came,  I  was  unable  to  go  through 
my  part.  Salvini  acted  with  all  his  powers,  but  if  he 
approached,  I  shrank  from  him.  I  could  put  no  passion 
in  my  words,  lest  Mimo  should  misinterpret  them.  I 
could  see  the  angry  look  in  his  eyes,  and  I  recoiled 
from  it. 

"Then  I  threw  myself  at  Mimo's  feet,  and  told  him 
that  I  loved  him  only.  Gladly  would  I  abandon  my  pro- 
fusion if  ho  wished.  What  was  the  world's  admiration 
to  his  love?  But  he  turned  coldly  away,  and  bid  me  do 
as  I  chose.  I  grew  like  marble — and,  naturally,  the  pub- 
lic grew  cold.  One  day,  after  such  a  scene  with  Mimo, 
I  went  to  Salvini,  and  told  him  I  would  never  act  again. 
He  was  indignant,  and  never  spoke  to  me  till  I  sent  for 


P>50  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

him,  as  yon  know,  in  Genoa.  I  took  no  formal  farewell 
of  the  public  which  had  honored  me,  but  that  night  the 
name  of  Helena  Ortelli  was  struck  from  the  bills. 

"  For  several  days  the  journals  expressed  regret,  and 
the  hope  that  my  decision  was  not  final,  and  my  hus- 
band's friends  were  quite  incredulous,  knowing  that 
Malaspina's  income  was  small. 

"Meanwhile,  from  Mimo's  lips,  I  heard  no  word  of 
praise  or  blame ;  he  seemed  to  ignore  altogether  the  step 
I  had  taken,  and  all  it  had  cost  me.  His  indifference 
cut  me  to  the  soul.  To  him  I  had  sacrificed  my  art, 
For  him  I  had  accepted  poverty — and  no  expression  of 
interest — not  a  sign  of  gratitude! — no  thanks!  Oh, 
God,  the  agony  I  suffered!  In  the  solitude  of  my 
chamber  I  cried  aloud,  for  I  could  not  bear  the  oppres- 
sion of  my  heart.  His  very  beauty  had  grown  a  pain  to 
me!  and  yet  he  looked  so  beautiful!  I  grew  dull  and 
taciturn.  I  wept.  I  grew  ugly,  I  suppose.  I  shut  my- 
self up,  and  refused  to  receive  my  friends. 

"Then  he  began  to  absent  himself  from  home.  I 
heard  he  went  frequently  to  the  house  of  a  certain 
noble  lady,  whose  name,  I  remembered,  had,  before  his 
marriage,  been  coupled  with  his  own.  But  he  had 
spoken  carelessly  of  her  to  me,  so  that,  hitherto,  I  had 
felt  no  jealousy.  Nor  do  I  think  he  ever  loved  her,  but 
he  needed  pastime,  and  he  loved,  I  think,  to  torture  me. 
I  had  made  myself  too  thoroughly  his  slave.  He  had 
begun  to  feel  the  ennui  of  absolute  sovereignty,  and  the 
very  earnestness  of  my  love  annoyed  him."  She  paused, 
and  caught  her  breath. 

"Oh,  Rosa,"  she  cried,  while  her  words  came  convul- 
sively, "help  me!— comfort  me!  Oh,  God!  Oh,  my 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  351 

God !  I  was  wild  with  grief  I     How  shall  I  tell  you  ! — 
Listen ! 

"A  great  pestilence  was  raging  in  the  city.  I  thought 
—I  thought — if  it  smote  Mimo — it  would  rob  him  of 
his  fatal  beauty.  Then  none  but  I  would  love  him ;  but 
I  would  nurse  and  foster,  and  love  him,  and  make  him 
mine — always  mine ! " 

As  Helena  said  this,  she  lifted  her  large  eyes,  which 
might  have  belonged  to  a  disembodied  spirit,  so  weirdly 
did  their  fierce  light  contrast  Avith  her  ashen  features. 

"Yes!"  she  continued,  gazing  fixedly  before  her — 
"Yes,  I  thought  that!  And  day  and  night  the  thought' 
racked  my  brain,  until  it  became  a  mania.  I  scanned 
his  features  eagerly.  If  his  cheek  were  flushed — was  it 
not  a  sign  of  fever?  Was  he  pale — then  I  thought, 
with  exultation  in  my  heart,  this  may  be  the  herald  of 
the  plague.  But  no,  he  was  always  well.  He  would  not 
sicken ! 

"  One  day,  it  happened  that  I  was  called  by  a  poor 
woman  in  great  distress,  to  see  her  baby.  I  had  often 
seen  her  scrubbing  the  floor  behind  the  scenes  of  the 
theatre,  and  given  her  some  money  as  I  passed,  and  felt 
how  wide  the  contrast  was  between  us.  She  wiped  the 
place  where  my  feet  trod.  She  had  never  forgotten  me, 
and  now,  in  her  trouble,  her  heart  turned  to  me. 

"I  w-nt  with  her,  and  found  the  child  moaning  on 
its  bed,  its  little  body  scarlet  with  fever,  and  broken 
out  with  sores.  There  was  a  strange  odor  in  the  room, 
which  made  me  feel  faint,  and  running  to  the  window, 
I  flung  it  open.  'Go  for  a  physician,'  I  said,  'for  my 
doctor — Doctor  Anlbssi!  He  is  good  and  kind;  tell 
him  that  I  want  him,  and  he  will  come  1 ' 


352  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

"The  poor  mother  ran  frantically  for  Ihe  doctor, 
while  I  watched  by  the  little  baby's  side.  Within  half 
an  hour  the  doctor  came,  and  bending  a  moment  over 
the  baby,  looked  up  hastily  at  me. 

"'Go  away  instantly!'  he  said,  sternly.  'Do  you 
know  what  this  is  ? — It  is  the  pestilence  ! ' 

"A  dizziness  came  over  me — I  lingered. 

" '  Go ! '  he  repeated. 

"My  handkerchief  had  fallen  on  the  crib,  one  of  the 
child's  little  fevered  hands  rested  on  it.  I  stooped  and 
took  it,  then  hastened  home. 

"I  went  into  my  lonely  room.  I  looked  around. 
There  were  Mimo's  dressing-case,  his  coat,  his  em- 
broidered slippers,  his  cigar-case;  everything  was  asso- 
ciated with  him !  How  dear  he  was  to  me — but  how 
little  happiness  he  had  brought  me!  How  my  life  hud 
changed  since  it  had  been  joined  to  his!  Would  he 
ever  look  on  me  again  as  he  once  did,  and  say  again  in 
those  tones  that  thrilled  me  still,  '  Helena,  I  ad<>re  thee !' 
Oh,  if  I  could  chain  him  to  me  by  any  tie — by  gratitude 
— tenderness — if  not  by  love!  Oh,  that  I  might  once 
more  call  up  his  soul  into  his  eyes,  and  die  in  its  light! 

"Perhaps — as  it  was — I  should  die!  Had  I  not  been 
exposed  to  the  dreaded  pestilence  ?  If  it  should  attack 
me,  he  would  shun  me,  for  he  hated  sickness — his  flesh 
would  shrink  from  contact  with  mine!  I  should  not  lie 
in  his  arms  in  my  last  agony,  and  hear  him  whisper, 
'Forgive  me,  Helena!'  I  should  not  hold  him  in  the 
grave.  He  would  live  in  all  his  beauty,  and  the  world 
teach  him  to  forget  me. 

"Never!  A  thought — the  terrible  thought,  which  had 
haunted  me  so  long — flashed  through  my  brain !  Ould 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  353 

I  wish  ? — Yes — I  wLhed  that  lie  might  be  stricken 
down ;  that  thus,  at  least,  he  might  become  wholly 
mine  1  The  tempter  knocked  loudly  at  my  heart;  I 
opened  and  let  him  in.  I  crossed  the  room,  and 
smooth cd  his  pillow,  kisstd  and  wet  it  with  my  tears, 
and  then — I  placed  upon  it  the  handkerchief  which  the 
little  child  had  held;  there  it  lay  all  day. 

"  Whi-n,  by  and  by,  I  heard  Mimo's  step,  I  was  like 
one  drunk  with  excitement.  He  came  in,  hastily,  but 
as  ho  looked  at  me,  he  paused — '  How  beautiful  you  are, 
Helena/  he  said.  '  Your  eyes  arc  flame  !  You  look  as 
you  did  when  you  played  Medea ! ' 

"  '  I  wish/  I  answered,  moodily,  '  that  I  had  been — not 
an  actress,  but  an  opera  singer  ! ' 

" '  Why/  said  he, '  you  were  great  as  an  actress ! ' 

"'  I  do  not  know/  I  replied;  'I  fancy  the  part  of  Nor- 
ma  would  have  suiteu  me  well.  I  should  like  to  have 
sung  just  once  these  words — "In  the  grave,  in  the  grave 
thou  sluilfc  lie  with  me  still !"' 

'; '  And  me,  I  suppose/  he  answered,  smiling,  '  you 
would  have  destined  to  the  cruel  Roman's  enviable  end/ 

"I  did  not  speak,  but  turned  away.  All  that  day  he 
was  kinder  to  me  than  usual.  When  night  came  on,  I 
took  away  the  handkerchief,  and  let  him  sleep  upon  the 
pillow.  But  with  the  morning  light  a  nameless  terror 
fell  upon  me.  No  sooner  had  he  left  the  house  than  I 
rushed  to  his  chamber,  flung  wide  open  the  windows, 
and  drenched  the  room  with  perfumes.  All  day  I  knew 
no  rest.  I  paced  that  room,  listening  for  his  footstep. 
I  was  m  id  with  a  thousand  fears. 

'•  When  at  last  he  returned,  he  seemed  well  and  happy 
— happier  than  he  had  been  for  many  weeks,  and  his 


354.  THE    ITALIAN   GIRL. 

manner  was  gentler  than  its  wont.  Several  days  passed, 
and  I  had  began  to  feel  repose  steal  back  upon  my 
heart,  when — Rosa!" — her  eyes  opened  with  a-  wild 
glare — "he  sickened  suddenly!  Oh,  God,  lie  sickened 
— and  I  was  well.  Had  he  suspected,  I  think  it  would 
have  been  a  comfort  to  my  soul,  but  he  little  dreamed 
what  ailed  him,  and  made  light  of  his  illness.  He  grew 
rapidly  worse — and  worse. 

"'Kiss  me,  Helena!'  he  would  whi.-per;  'stoop  down 
and  kiss  me,  sweet !  I  love  you ;  I  have  always  loved 
you.  Forgive  my  cruelty,  beloved  ! ' 

"Presently  he  grew  silent,  then  unconscious — the 
disease  had  tightened  its  clutch  upon  its  victim.  Gone 
was  the  beauty  which  others  had  admired ;  but  he, 
whom  I  worshiped  so  madly,  lay  there  mine — all 
mine! 

"I  hung  over  him — kissed  his  poor  swollen  lips — I 
breathed  the  polluted  atmosphere.  In  vain,  I  could 
not  take  the  malady — in  irony  it  spared  me  !  Wildly  I 
called  him  by  his  name — he  could  not  answer  me — he 
could  no  more  lift  his  eyes  to  mine ! 

"Rosa,  Rosa!  I  had  never  dreamed  that  this  might 
come !  Strange ! — I  had  pictured  everything,  save 
this!  It  came  at  last — death!  All  was  silent  now. 
That  noble  form  which  had  moved  in  gracious  ways  be- 
fore me,  would  stir  no  more.  Dead — and  I  had  killed 
him  !  Under  the  earth — not  eveji  there — should  he  be 
with  me.  He  was  lost  to  me  in  the  grave  — and  beyond 
it — in  that  awful  hereafter!  It  was  this  thought,  and 
this  only,  which  kept  me  from  self-murder!  I  would 
wear  out  my  day  of  torture  on  the  lonely  earth,  and 
seek  to  expiate,  if  God  would  suffer  me,  my  guilt,  and 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  355 

then—  claim  him — not  in  heaven,"  she  said,  shuddering, 
"  but  in  the  grave. 

"  But  the  fire  rages  ever  within  me.  I  have  found  no 
rest  for  my  weary  soul — no  rest  in  this  world — what  if  I 
find  none  hereafter!  Oh,  my  God!  I  love  him  still! — 
Wildly  as  I  loved  him  then!"  She  put  out  her  hands, 
as  if  for  help.  Rosa  took  them  in  her  own.  "  You 
know  all  now,"  whispered  Helena.  "You  can  no  longer 
love  me.  Pity  me,  my  child  ! " 

"  Oh,  Helena  ! — let  me  call  you  by  that  name  ! — My 
friend,  my  creator  !  You  shall  not  say  I  cannot  love 
you — I  who  love  yon  with  my  whole  heart.  Oh,  Helena," 
she  cried,  laying  her  fresh  cheek  on  that  burning  brow, 
"let  me  cool  it — let  me  give  you  rest  1  Lean  your  head 
here,  sweet ! " 

Helena  started,  then  burst  into  a  paroxysm  of  tears. 
They  were  the  first  she  had  shed  for  years.  "Sweet !" 
she  repeated,  "Iliad  not  heard  that  word  since  it  fell 
from  his  lips.  It  came  from  him  but  rarely.  At  the 
first— then  at  the  last !  It  comes  to  my  ear  like  the 
echo  of  far  music.  Rosa,"  she  said,  breathlessly,  "do 
you  think  me  a  murderess?" 

"No,  no!  dearest!  Do  not  talk  so  wildly!  You 
frighten  me.  1  love  you.  I  shall  always  love  you.  But 
I  would  have  you  seek  help  from  one  stronger  than 
I.'  Tell  me,  Helena,  do  you  ever  pray  God  to  help 
jou  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  to  ask  anything  of  God,"  she  answered. 
"I  dare  not  pray  !  " 

"  He  is  merciful ! "  paid  Rosa,  clasping  her  hands  ten- 
derly around  Helena's  head.  Her  voice  was  low  and 
tremulous. 


356  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

"  He  is  just,"  said  Helena,  in  hollow  tones,  that  struck 
dolefully  on  Eosa's  ear. 

Rosa  continued,  gently,  "  Her  sins,  which  are  many, 
are  forgiven  ;  for  she  has  loved  much." 

Helena  shook  her  head,  and  answered  mournfully, 
"For  the  hypocrite,  Christ  said  there  should  he  weeping 
and  gnashing  of  teeth." 

"  But,  Helena,  did  he  not  also  say,  *  Come  unto  me,  all 
ye  that  lahor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  yon 
rest?'  and  '  Blessed  are  they  that  mourn,  for  they  shall 
be  comforted  ? '  Oh,  my  friend,  what  sacred  consolation, 
what  sweet  repose  breathes  throughout  those  words  I  Be 
comforted  by  them." 

" '  Blessed  are  the  merciful,'"  Helena  murmured,  " '  for 
they  shall  obtain  mercy.'  What  hope  is  there  then  for 
me — have  I  been  merciful  ?  " 

"Dearest,  he  who  died  for  us  will  not  judge  ns  man 
judges.  He  reads  every  secret  of  your  heart,  he  has  wit- 
nessed its  penitence  and  sorrow.  I,  too,  have  known  sor- 
row— sorrow  I  could  ill  have  borne  without  his  help." 

"You?"  cried  Helena,  with  the  instinctive  arrogance 
of  grief,  looking  up  at  the  fresh  young  face.  Then  her 
mood  changed.  She  turned  away  her  heal,  and  said, 
"The  great  lesson  of  sorrow  you  may  have  learned  early 
as  I  learned  it  late.  But  you  know  not  this  anguish — 
this  agony  of  mine!  What  can  the  innocent  know  of 
Buffering?" 

"Dear  Helena,"  Rosa  interposed,  "upon  one  thing  I 
am  determined.  You  must  not  oppose  me !  AVe  will 
leave  this  place.  It  has  become  hateful  to  me  since  I 
have  known  it  to  be  painful  to  you!  I  will  break  my 
contract  with  Sulvini  rather  than  remain !  " 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  357 

"By  no  me  ins!"  returned  Helena,  earnestly  roused 
for  a  moment  from  her  personal  grief  by  Rosa's  proposi- 
tion. "No,  Rosa,  that  must  not  be.  Circumstances  will 
not  always  bend  to  our  wishes.  The  latter  ought  some- 
times to  yield." 

"  But  they  will  not,"  said  Rosa,  "  "We  cannot  forget ! 
I  tell  you,  Helena,  that  you  must  not  stay  in  Florence/' 

"  Wherever  I  go,"  returned  Helena,  "I  drag  my  chain. 
Remember,  Rosa,  that  Salviui  is  all  powerful  on  the 
Italian  stnge.  Your  future  success  depends  largely  on 
his  support.  Should  you  now  thwart  his  plans,  he  might 
refuse  to  act  with  you  again." 

'•'And  if  he  do,"  said  Rosa,  "I  care  not;  bnt  he  must 
and  shall  listen  to  me,"  and  without  giving  the  countess 
time  for  further  protest,  she  ran  out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

OSA  at  this  time  had  been  acting  for  two  months 
on  the  Florentine  stage,  and  the  enthusiasm 
which  had  first  greeted  her  had  not  slackened. 
It  is  not  often  that  an  Italian  audience  is  so 
constant,  but  Rosa's  youth,  beauty,  and  positive  genius 
had  combined  to  captivate  their  fickle  affections,  and  in- 
stalled her  as  the  favorite  of  the  season.  Even  young 
girls  raved  about  her,  and  young  men  might  be  seen  at 
all  hours  roving  hopelessly  beneath  her  windows,  or 
vying  with  each  other,  when  she  drove  in  the  Cascini, 
in  feats  of  gallant  horsemanship. 

The  stage  was  nightly  strewn  with  flowers,  while  from 
the  boxes  were  let  down  mammoth  bouquets,  too  mighty 
for  her  grasp.  Rosa  could  not  be  insensible  to  such 
homage,  and  it  was  a  natural  reluctance  to  surrender  it 
which  made  it  painful  for  her  to  leave  Florence.  Yet 
often  she  had  murmured  to  herself — 

"  My  heart  is  lonely  in  the  midst  of  triumph.  I  would 
rather  have  one  kind  look  from  his  eyes,  than  the  ap- 
plause of  Italy !" 

Why  he  never  came  to  see  her  was  a  problem  she  could 
not  solve,  but  daily  pondered.  Since  that  evening  when 
she  had  met  him  in  Miss  Marlboro's  apartment,  she  had 
never  seen  him  face  to  face.  But  she  'knew  he  was  in 
Florence,  for  during  those  eight  weeks  he  had  never 
failed  to  be  present  when  she  appeared  upon  the  stage. 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  359 

Yes,  while  the  rest  of  the  audience  seemed  as  faces  seen 
dimly  in  a  mist,  she  never  failed  to  distinguish  him.  Let 
him  sit  ever  so  far  back  in  the  theatre,  her  glance  would 
find  him  out. 

Once,  from  the  flowers  flung  upon  the  stage,  she  had 
selected  instinctively  a  bunch  of  tea-roses,  divining  from 
whose  hand  they  came,  for  they  were  twin-sisters  of 
those  he  had  offered  her  when  they  par' cd  in  New  York. 
"Were  these,  too,  she  had  asked  herself,  the  token  of  a 
second,  and  a  sadder  separation?  But  this  time  she  had 
banished  herself.  Yes,  she  must  leave  Florence. 

It  Ayas  with  a  bitter  pang  that  Rosa  had  left  Helena's 
room,  and  sought  refuge  in  her  own  chamber.  There 
she  kneeled  and  prayed — not  a  prayer  to  be  found  in  the 
pages  of  any  litany,  but  a  humble  and  plain  petition — 
the  prayer  of  a  little  child.  She  asked  her  father  in 
h'-aven  to  pity  her  poor  friend,  to  pour  balm  upon  that 
spirit  which  had  been  so  grievously  wounded,  to  help  her 
to  forget  herself  and  her  selfish  desires  for  Helena's  dear 
sake,  and  sacrifice  her  own  heart  to  the  sore  need  of 
another. 

She  felt  calmer  when  she  rose,  but  the  weight  was  not 
lifted  from  her  heart:  she  must  leave  the  city  where  he 
was!  Strange  that  she  should  find  it  harder  to  leave 
him  now  than  it  had  been  two  years  before,  when  she 
had  seen  him  more  intimately,  and  when  an  ocean  was 
about  to  divide  them,  it  seemed  forever!  Now  the 
world  smiled  upon  her,  a  brilliant  career  had  opened  to 
her,  fame  and  fortune  lay  in  her  grasp — and  he  was  at 
least  on  the  same  continent.  For  all  this  it  seemed  to 
her  that  they  were  about  to  be  more  hopelessly  separated 
than  ever. 


360  THE   ITALIAN  GIRL. 

Rosa  nevertheless  did  not  flinch  from  that  which  she 
believed  to  be  her  duty.  She  wen  t  to  Salvini,  and  told 
him  that  she  could  not  remain  in  Florence.  In  vain  he 
Bought  to  reason  with  her.  She  was  deaf  to  his  argu- 
ments. At  length,  because  he  felt  that  he  could  not  act 
without  her,  he  yielded  to  her  wishes.  It  was  agreed  ac- 
cordingly that  on  the  succeeding  evening  they  should 
take  leave  of  the  Florentines. 

"Two  nights  more  1"  she  murmured,  as  Salvini  closed 
the  door  behind  her ;  "  but  two  nights  more,  and  I 
shall  have  seen  him  for  the  last  time."  Rosa  passed  a 
restless  day,  keeping  aloof  from  Helena,  for  she  .would 
not  have  the  latter  guess  what  a  struggle  her  decision 
had  cost  her,  and  she  feared  her  scrutinizing  eye.  Wh  n 
at  length  the  evening  came,  she  felt  by  no  means  equal 
to  her  task,  but  under  the  pressure  of  feverish  excite- 
ment, succeeded  in  going  through  her  part. 

She  passed  a  wakeful  night,  and  it  was  late  when  she 
arose,  pale  and  dejected.  Would  he  not  come  to-day, 
and  take  leave  of  her?  His  indifference  Avas  cruel, 
was  unmannerly — and  yet,  were  he  really  indifferent, 
would  he  come  every  evening  to  the  theatre,  and  follow 
with  hungry  eyes  every  movement  of  hers?  lie  must 
know  that  now  more  than  ever  she  had  need  of  his 
friendship;  at  any  rate  he  had  no  right  to  ignore  com- 
mon civility.  These  musings  were  broken  by  a  knock 
at  the  door.  "Was  it  he  ?  Her  heart  beat  fast.  No ;  a  card 
was  presented  to  her — it  was  that  of  Mary  Marlboro. 
Completing  her  toilette  speedily,  she  hastened  to  the 
drawing-room,  and  whatever  disappointment  might  be 
lurking  in  her  heart,  she  was  sine  >ivly  dvliglued  to  see 
Mary  again.  As  Mary  rose  and  came  forward,  she  lifted 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  361 

her  veil,  and  Eosa  could  hardly  suppress  an  exclamation 
of  sad  surprise  at  the  change  which  a  few  weeks'  absence 
had  made  in  her  friend's  appearance.  The  latter  did  in- 
deed look  pale  and  delicate,  and  the  old  animation  had 
quite  faded  from  her  eyes.  Rosa's  look  did  not  escape 
Mary's  notice,  who  said  quickly  • 

"  I  have  come  back,  it  seems,  just  in  time !  This  is 
your  last  appearance  in  Florence.  But  I  shall  see  you 
once  upon  the  stage — a  pleasure  I  have  longed  for!" 

"I  have  missed  you  sadly,"  said  Eosa;  "  why  did  you 
postpone  your  return  so  long  ? " 

"  I  was  with  friends  who  had  never  visited  Rome. 
Everyone,  I  suppose,  lingers  longer  in  the  Eternal  City 
than  he  intends.." 

"  And  now,"  said  Eosa  with  a  sigh,  "  now  that  you 
have  returned,  I  must  go  away  ! " 

"And  I  too,"  said  Mary,  "leave  Florence  to-morrow. 
My  only  motive  in  coming  at  all  was  to  see  you  once 
more." 

"  Where  do  you  go  ?  "  asked  Eosa. 

"  My  aunt — and  the  friends  whom  I  have  been  with 
lately — have  formed  a  party  to  go  up  the  Nile!  I  am  to 
join  tli em  to-morro^v." 

"You  arc  going  to  Egypt!  Oh,  how  far  away!  I 
envy  you.  There  is  nothing  I  should  like  better  than 
the  silence  of  those  great  deserts!" 

"You!"  paid  Mary,  "Solitude  should  have  no  charms 
for  you.  You  belong  to  the  world !" 

"To  the  world.  Yes!"  said  Rosa,  "as  the  slave  be- 
longs to  his  master!" 

"  But  surely,  you  do  not  complain  of  your  brilliant 
prospect  ?     You  love  your  work  ?  " 
10 


362  THE  ITALIAN  GIRL. 

"Yes,"  said  Rosa,  with  a  blush  of  pride,  "I  do  love  it. 
Creation  in  any  form  is  god-like!  Poets,  painters, 
sculptors,  all  have  creative  souls;  out  of  the  chaos  and 
darkness  round  them  they  call  forth  light  and  life 
This  is  our  mission  also,  though  in  a  far  humbler  way 
We  give  color  and  reality  to  what  had  been  depicted  in- 
deed to  the  imagination,  but  now  gains  for  the  first 
time  an  existence  for  the  senses.  Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Mary,  looking  at  her  with  admiration, 
"  yours  is  truly  the  art  of  Pygmalion ! " 

"But  you  paint!"  continued  Rosa;  "in  your  art  you 
can  idealize,  and  therefore  it  is  far  nobler  than  ours. 
Besides  the  medium  in  which  we  work,  to  which  we  ad- 
dress ourselves,  is  the  taste  and  memory  of  our  coevals — • 
a  medium  far  more  perishable  than  canvas.  You  can 
arrest  and  hold  what  would  otherwise  be  fleeting.  The 
silent  approbation  of  the  world  is  a  surer  seal  of  your 
success  than  the  deafening  but  transitory  applause  with 
which  our  triumphs  are  proclaimed." 

Mary  did  not  answer.  She  took  up  a  book  of  poems 
which  lay  upon  the  table,  and  turning  over  the  leaves: 
"Some  of  these  are  very  pretty,"  she  said;  then  added 
carelessly,  with  her  eyes  still  on  the  book,  "  Have  you 
seen  Mr.  Livingstone  of  late  ?  " 

"I  have  not  seen  him,"  Rosa  answered,  turning  pale, 
and  conscious  that  her  heart  was  beating  painfully, 
"since  the  evening  I  passed  with  vou.  That  was  long 
ago!" 

"  Not  since  I  went  away !  How  strange,"  murmured 
Mary,  almost  inaudibly. 

"I  do  not  find  it  strange.  Mr.  Livingstone,  although 
he  prides  himself  on  his  republican  descent,  is  at  heart 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  363 

the  coldest  of  aristocrats.  Our  Italian  noblemen  are 
not  half  so  proud,  nor  do  they  make  us  feel  so  painfully 
the  difference  in  our  birth  I" 

Mary  smiled  sadly.  "I  know  no  man,"  she  answered 
loyally,  "more  utterly  free  from  prejudice  of  that  kind 
than  Mr.  Livingstone.  He  has  too  much  genuine  no- 
bility to  prize  that  which  derives  its  importance  merely 
from  accident." 

"  It  may  be  so.  I  know  him  too  slightly  to  judge  of 
his  character!  How  deserted  the  streets  look  to-day!" 
Rosa  said,  glancing  out  at  the  window. 

Mary  rose;  she  took  both  Rosa's  hands  in  hers. 
"Good-by!"  she  said,  "I  shall  see  you  to-night — but 
only  at  a  distance — and,  afterward,  not  for  a  long,  long 
time!  Do  not  forget  me  !  It'will  console  me  to  think 
that  you  sometimes  remember  me!  God  bless  you!" 
As  she  drew  Rosa  to  her  and  kissed  her,  the  tears  stood 
in  her  eyes. 

"You  were  the  first  person — "  Rosa  paused.  Her 
face  was  scarlet — "  I  mean  almost  the  first  person  who 
was  disinterestedly  kind  to  me.  There  is  no  likelihood, 
believe  me,  that  I  shall  ever  forget  you." 

When  Mary,  returning  from  her  visit  to  Rosa,  opened 
the  door  of  her  apartment,  the  first  thing  which  met  her 
eyes  was  a  letter  1  It  was  from  Cecilia.  Interesting  as 
her  sister's  letters  always  were,  Mary  little  dreamed  how 
completely  all  her  projects  for  the  future  might  be 
changed  after  reading  this.  It  ran  thus : 

"DEAREST  MART,  MY  BELOVED  SISTER: — 

"  Come  back  to  us.  I  need  you ;  Henry  misses  you ; 
baby  cries  for  you.  Only  yesterday  the  little  fellow 


364  THE    ITALIAN   GIRL. 

stopped  in  the  middle  of  his  play,  and  running  tip  to 
me,  leaned  his  elbow  on  my  knees,  and  looking  up  in 
my  face  with  a  troubled  expression,  said  : 

" '  Aunt  Mary  don't  love  little  Harry  any  more.' 

"'  Why  so?  'I  asked. 

"'Because/  he  answered,  in  baby  accents,  'if  she  did 
love  little  Harry,  she  would  come  and  see  him.' 

"  Let  your  conscience  answer  if  it  be  right  to  sow  the 
first  seeds  of  doubt  in  that  infant  mind.  I  have  received 
your  last  letter,  in  which  you  opened  your  heart  to  me. 
It  is  the  same  heart  which  I  have  known  and  trusted  for 
years,  and  which  ever  beats  responsive  to  all  that  is 
noble  and  trne.  I  can  only  say,  in  answer,  that  what 
you  did  was  right  You  will  reap  your  reward;  not, 
perhaps,  where  we  short-sighted  ones  look  for  it,  but 
there,  where  a  voice  shall  bless  witli  uttering:  'It  was 
well  done ! ' 

"Dear  Mary,  happiness  no  longer  seems  to  me,  as  it 
once  did,  the  one  aim  and  object  of  living.  No,  not  even 
the  most  perfect  happiness  which  this  earth  can  give, 
and  which  is  mine  in  such  large  measure.  To  whom, 
think  you,  do  I  owe  so  much  philosophy?  Is  it  to  my 
bus  and,  who  gave  me  sight  by  tearing  off  the  bandage 
of  prejudice  (I  once  thought  somewhat  rudely)  from  my 
eyes?  or  to  my  baby,  who  came  like  a  little  angel  to 
dip  its  wings  in  the  troubled  waters  of  my  h-  art  ?  or  to 
myself,  who  beheld  a  gulf  widening  daily  between  me 
and  what  I  held  most  dear,  and  labored,  tearfully,  pray- 
erfully, to  bridge  it  over? 

"  Something  it  may  have  been  of  all  of  these  ;  but  most 
I  owe  to  my  dear,  dear  sister.  She  it  was  who  put  in  my 
hand  that  key  which  locks  fast  restlessness  and  misery, 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  365 

and  opens  wide  the  doors  of  happiness  and  hope.  I 
mean — work.  Yes,  in  working  for  others,  I  forgot  self- 
introspection  ;  I  found  wholesome  forgetfuluess  of  self! 
I  have  hecome,  indeed,  such  an  advocate  of  labor,  which 
I  proclaim  a  panacea,  that  even  Henry  laughs  at  me, 
and  protests  I  shall  have  poor  little  Hal  in  the  traces 
before  his  time.  It  would,  indeed,  prove  the  sincerity  of 
my  principles  if  I  applied  them  to  my  own  little  Isaac, 
would  it  not? 

"  But,  dearest,  to  hear  of  the  good  you  have  done  must 
not  suffice  you.  You  must  come  to  see  and  prove,  lest 
without  you  I  fail  under  the  final  test.  And  then,  after 
all,  Mary,  is  not  home  the  best  place  for  you  ?  Think 
of  all  the  love  which  awaits  you  here,  and  turn  your 
steps  homeward ! 

"  As  for  your  painting,  surely  Raphael  and  Correggio 
never  had  lovelier  models  than  my  little  Hal.  You  must 
not  fancy  that  it  is  a  mother's  partiality  which  speaks. 
If  his  auuty  could  see  him,  she  would  agree  with  me! 
My  letter  must  end,  as  it  begins,  with  a  single  prayer  : 
Come  back  to  us,  dear,  dear  sister  !  "Write  me,  im- 
mediately, what  you  decide  to  do.  Henry  sends  his 
best  love,  and  joins  in  my  petition  ;  so  does  baby,  with 
a  kiss. 

"  Your  loving  sister, 

"CECILIA  ELLIOT." 

It  was  with,  mingled  pleasure  and  pain  that  Mary 
read  Cecilia's  letter.  The  restless  sorrow  in  her  heart 
had  impelled  her  to  fly  from  places  familiar,  it  mattered 
not  whither,  so  she  might  find  distraction,  and  escape  a 
subject  which  too  fatally  engrossed  her  thoughts.  Her 


366  THE    ITALIAN   GIRL. 

home  had  been  associated  with  many  painful  memories, 
but  it  had  been  placed  in  a  new  light  by  Cecilia's  loving 
words.  It  offered  her  a  haven  of  rest.  Love  awaited 
her  there.  Much,  certainly,  was  left  her  in  those  dear 
ones  who  were  bound  to  her  by  nature's  indissoluble 
tie.  She  would  see  her  little  nephew,  and  what  could 
be  sweeter  than  to  watch  the  development  of  that  young 
life,  the  unfolding  of  the  new-born  soul?  Although 
she  were  not  its  mother,  might  she  not  do  much  to  help 
the  child  upward  and  onward  ?  Yes,  we  could  all  aid 
one  another;  no  human  influence  was  lost. 

Long  and  sorely  the  girl  wrestled  with  her  feelings. 
Was  it  well,  was  it  right,  to  go  on  repining  forever  ?  She 
did  not  deceive  herself.  She  saw.  plain  before  her  the 
arid  waste  of  a  life  dedicated  to  a  hopeless  love.  "Would 
it  not  be  better,  nobler,  to  keep  that  love  enshrined  in 
the  silence  of  her  heart,  and  give  her  life  to  an  unselfish 
purpose?  She  would  rouse  herself,  she  resolved  now, 
and  vanquish  vain  regrets.  She  felt  strengthened  already 
by  the  whole -ome  resolution,  and  that  night,  when  she 
went  to  see  Eosa  play,  her  heart  was  lighter  than  it  had 
been  for  many  a  day. 

Eosa's  eyes  had  early  sought  Mary  in  the  audience. 
Mary  and  Mr.  Livingstone,  they  were  the  only  beings  in 
all  that  throng  whoso  presence  or  absence  was  of  con- 
sequence to  her — whose  admiration  she  really  craved. 
Rosa  was  acting  to-night  with  more  than  wonted  fervor, 
and  M  try  sat  entranced,  so  much  absorbed  in  the  scene 
before  her,  that  for  the  time  she  forgot  all  else. 

And  now  the  last  act  was  finished.  Eosa,  called  re- 
peatedly before  the  curtain,  made  a  pretext  of  gathering 
some  of  the  flowers  which  had  been  showered  upon  the 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  367 

gtage,  that  she  might  give  Mary,  whom  she  had  st>on 
distinguished  in  the  crowd,  one  farewell  glance.  At  this 
moment,  she  saw  the  door  of  Mary's  box  open  and  Mr. 
Livingstone  enter.  Then  all  seemed  mist  before  her 
eyes;  the  bouquet  she  was  holding  dropped  from  her 
hand.  Forgetting  that  Salvini  was  waiting  to  escort 
her,  she  lifted  hastily  the  heavy  folds  of  the  curtain,  and 
retired.  Mary  saw  the  movement,  but  did  not  detect  the 
motive.  At  that  moment,  a  familiar  voice  addressed  her. 
She  started,  and  turned  to  welcome  it.  Then  it  was 
that  the  cause  of  Eosa's  agitation  flashed  across  her. 
She  understood  it  now  too  well. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  public  enthusiasm  sub- 
sided, but  in  vaiu  men  waved  their  handkerchiefs,  shout- 
ing, "  Brava !  brava ! "  Rosa  was  inexorable,  and  tired  at 
last  with  useless  demonstration,  the  audience  dispersed. 

Mr.  Livingstone  accompanied  Mary  to  her  door,  and 
before  they  separated,  she  told  him  of  her  resolution  to 
return  to  America,  He  pressed  her  hand  reverently  to 
his  lips,  and  as  they  bade  farewell  to  one  another,  each 
of  then)  fV't  more  lonely  and  weary  at  heart. 


CHAPTER  XXXL 

ALVINI'S  next  engagement  was  at  Milan, 
whither  Helena  and  Rosa  now  turned  their 
steps.  Rosa's  heart  was  far  from  light,  but  she 
made  it  a  principal  aim  to  conceal  from  the 
countess  her  despondency.  Not  seldom,  however,  she 
found  her  friend's  eyes  fixed  piercingly  upon  her,  as  if 
they  meant  to  spell  the  secret  of  her  heart.  At  such 
moments,  the  blood  mounted  unbidden  to  Rosa's  brow, 
and  the  look  which  answered  her  friend's  gaze  carried 
with  it  a  mute  entreaty  to  desist.  Helena  never  com- 
plained of  ill-health,  but  there  were  times  when  R<>sa 
fancied — and  the  idea  gave  her  infinite  pain — that  the 
countess  had  of  late  grown  much  weaker. 

It  was  without  much  interest — certainly  without  ex- 
citement— that  Rosa  made  preparation  for  her  debut  in 
Milan.  It  grieved  her  to  perceive  that  her  heart  could 
so  early  and  so  easily  grow  faint  in  her  career.  What  1 
BO  young — her  laurels  yet  so  fresh — her  tender  life  so 
newly  covered  with  success  and  fame.  Was  inspiration 
already  failing  ?  Were  the  brilliant  blossoms  that  lay 
strewn  so  thickly  in  her  path  all  withered  ? — were  they 
so  quickly  dead  ?  For  the  work  which  Mr.  Livingstone 
had  done — her  pride  confessed  it  now — she  loved,  at 
once,  and  hated  him. 
"  And  by  this  hatred,"  she  suddenly  said  to  herself, 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  369 

"  I  Trill  again  kindle  the  fires  which  he  has  extinguished 
within  me.  It  shall  never  be  with  me  as  it  has  been 
with  unhappy  Helena.  •  No  man  shall  have  power  to 
kill  what  God  has  quickened.  I  promised  to  avenge  her 
wrongs,  and  I  will  rot  myself  fall  a  victim  ! " 

Eosa  did  not  fail  to  arouse  at  Milan  the  same  enthu- 
siasm which  had  greeted  her  elsewhere.  But  she  retired 
on  the  first  night  of  her  appearance  dissatisfied  and  d;s- 
heartened.  What  was  applause  to  her,  if  conscience  told 
her  it  was  undeserved?  She  had  not  felt  her  rdle  that 
evening;  she  had  been  stirred  by  no  inward  fire.  Where, 
then,  was  the  true  artist?  Was  there,  after  all,  nothing 
iu  her  soul  that  would  proclaim  itself,  and  that  deserved 
proclaiming?  Was  it  only  the  admiration  of  one  person 
which  had  power  to  call  forth  her  genius?  Then  it  was 
no  genius.  Where,  then,  were  Helena's  dreams  for  her 
pnp:l?  Where  was  her  own  faith  in  work?  And  her 
ideals,  whither  had  they  vanished  ?  She  felt  terrified  at 
her  ILtlessness.  She  must  save  herself,  or  all  was  lost. 

K  !sa  knew  little  of  the  world  or  its  society.  Liv- 
ing so  long  outside  the  pale  of  social  life,  ?he  had  come 
to  look  011  it  as  a  mode  of  existence  with  which  she 
could  have  nothing  in  common.  But  now  her  mind 
turned  to  it  as  a  refuge.  She  had  tried  public  life — that 
was  cold ;  there  were  no  points  of  sympathy  or  contact 
with  others  there.  She  would  seek  her  felloAV-creatures. 
They  had  looked  to  her  for  enjoyment — let  them  min- 
ister as  well  as  receive ! 

"  Helena,"  she  said,  suddenly,  as  they  sat  in  silence 
together  one  day,  a  week  after  her  appearance  in  Milan, 
"  I  want  a  change." 

Helena  opened  wide  her  eyes. 
16* 


370  THE    ITALIAN   GIRL. 

"  Yes,"  said  Eosa,  "  I  wish  to  see  the  world — to  mingle 
with  it.  I  would  go  to  the  balls  to  which  we  are  asked ; 
accept  all  our  invitations;  receive  those  who  have  asked 
to  be  presented.  I  am  tired  of  my  self-imposed  seclusion. 
I  am  young,  and  I  mean  to  be  gay — to  be  admired  and 
courted,  as  well  off  the  stage  as  on  it.  I  require  new 
triumphs — new  pleasures." 

Helena  stared  at  her.  Rosa  laughed.  Her  laugh  had 
the  ring  of  old  times.  It  sounded  strange  and  sad — to 
Helena's  ear. 

"  Well,"  said  Rosa,  as  she  looked  up  at  Helena,  "  will 
you  let  me  go  everywhere  I  wish  ?  " 

"  Certainly ;  you  are  free  to  do  as  you  please." 

"  And  will  you  go  with  me  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  I  will  secure  some  suitable  person  to  ma- 
tronize  you." 

"  Thank  you.  And  will  you  go  with  me  to  choose  my 
dresses?  I  wish  them  to  be  what  you  like;  you  have 
perfect  taste." 

"  Yes,"  said  Helena,  sadly ;  "  I  will  accompany  you. 
It  is  hard  to  refuse  you  anything." 

"Let  us  start  immediately,"  said  Rosa.  "I  should 
like  to  take  a  drive,  and  it  will  be  a  novel  excitement 
to  go  about  to  the  shops  with  you." 

"I  feel,"  said  Helena,  catching  her  breath,  as  Rosa  left 
the  room,  "  I  feel  that  I  am  losing  my  only  child.  Who 
has  done  this  deed?" 

Lovely  toilettes  were  chosen,  and  sent  home  for  Rosa. 
Meanwhile,  Helena  had  sought  out  an  old  friend,  a  lady 
of  rank,  who  was  very  willing  to  take  Rosa  under  her 
wing.  Helena's  marriage  had  given  her  the  entree  to 
circles  where  her  talents  would  never  have  gained  ad- 


THE    ITALIAN   GIRL.  3U 

mittance.  So  it  happened  that  houses  which  would 
have  been  closed  to  the  Signorina  Thornton  were  cheer- 
fully opened  to  the  protegee  of  the  Countess  Malaspina. 

And  now  Rosa  was  fairly  launched  in  the  social  world. 
Her  admirers,  who  hitherto  had  worshiped  at  a  distance, 
were  at  liberty  to  approach  their  divinity.  In  sober  truth, 
the  young  actress  found  herself  adored  by  the  jeunesse 
doree  of  Lombard y,  but  she  returned  each  night  from 
fresh  conquests  with  a  weary,  aching  heart.  Society  had 
not  given  her  the  peace  she  looked  for.  The  world  she 
had  looked  forv\ard  to  as  a  remedy  only  palled  upon 
her. 

"What  is  it  all  worth?"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she 
loosened  from  her  hair  the  jewels  which  Helena  had 
placed  there.  Yet  there  was  always  the  restless  desire  to 
drink  deeper  and  deeper  the  draught,  that  it  might  at 
length  steep  her  in  forgetful  ness;  this,  at  least,  was  her 
hope. 

Helena  watched  her  career  with  increasing  anxiety. 
"  My  Rosa  cannot  be  spoiled,"  she  thought,  "  but  there  is 
a  canker  in  my  sweet  bud;  I  can  but  sit  with  folded 
hands  and  watch  and  wait." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 


TIE  spring  was  beginning  to  bloom  in  Italy; 
the  air  was  full  of  fragrance;  tlie  nights  were 
soft  and  warm.  The  French  ambassador  had 
come  to  Milan  to  visit  the  great  cathedral.  A 
grand  fete  was  to  be  given  at  the  Prince  Liciniauo's  in 
his  honor.  Every  one  who  had  any  title  to  distinction 
was  invited,  and  Eosa  Thornton,  the  celebrated  actress, 
was  to  be  one  of  the  attractions  of  the  evening. 

The  ball  had  been  purposely  appointed  for  a  night 
which  intervened  between  her  acting;  the  prince  himself 
was  one  of  Rosa's  most  enthusiastic  admirers. 

The  approaching  fete  to  be  given  by  the  prince  was 
the  excitement  of  the  day.  All  the  grand  ladies  of  the 
city  vied  with  each  other  in  the  choice  of  beautiful  and 
elegant  costumes.  The  prince  was  a  bachelor,  and  there 
were  few  noble  mothers  whose  hearts  did  not  beat  high 
with  hope  of  the  future  which  that  evening  might  open 
for  their  daughters. 

The  hour  hud  arrived;  the  palace  of  the  prince  was 
one  blaze  of  light;  from  the  rear  of  the  edifice,  long 
flights  of  marble  steps  led  down  to  a  garden,  whose  trees 
were  hung  with  variegated  lamps;  others  sprang  from 
the  midst  of  flowers;  silent  side  paths  were  left  darker 
in  the  subdued  softness  ot  the  moonlight;  a  lovely 
miniature  lake  glittered  in  the  midst  of  the  garden  ;  and 


THE   ITALIAN.   GIRL.  373 

beautiful  swans  floated  noiselessly,  like  white  lilies,  on 
its  surface. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  before  the  Countess  Cangnano, 
Rosa's  chaperon,  reached  the  palace. 

The  words  "  It  is  she,"  "  She  has  come,"  flew  quickly 
through  the  rooms.  la  a  moment  more  they  had  thrown 
off  their  cloaks  in  the  dressing-room,  aud  the  countess 
on  the  arm  of  her  husband,  Rosa  on  that  of  the  prince, 
who  had  been  impatiently  waiting  for  her,  entered  the 
grand  saloon.  There  was  a  hush  to  the  great  buzz  of 
voices  as  they  passed,  and  Rosa  turned  paler  as  she  grew 
conscious  that  every  eye  was  fixed  upon  her. 

She  wore  a  golden-threaded  gauze,  looped  over  white 
satin,  fastened  with  natural  white  camelias,  with  their 
large  green  leaves  shining  under  them.  The  same  flower 
was  in  her  jet  black  hair ;  no  other  ornament.  Helena 
had  chosen  her  dress,  and  had  presented  it  to  her.  She 
looked  very  beautiful,  severely  beautiful. 

It  was  plain  that  the  prince  was  absorbed  in  the 
young  actress;  some  words  he  murmured  in  her  ear 
which  made  Rosa  cast  down  her  eyes  and  laugh;  the 
music  clashed  forth ;  the  prince  led  her  to  the  ball- 
room. She  waltzed  first  with  him;  then  several  of  his 
friends  came  forward  and  claimed  her  hand;  she  was 
soon  engaged  for  every  dance.  The  heat  grew  oppres- 
sive. 

"  Take  me,"  she  said  to  the  prince,  on  whose  arm  she 
leaned,  "into  the  garden;  it  is  cooler  there."  They 
went  out ;  they  stood  a  moment  by  the  fountain,  whose 
refreshing  spray  fell  on  her  hand  as  she  stretched  it  out; 
they  walked  on. 

"You  are  exquisitely  beautiful  to-night,"  the  prince 


8U  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  am  but  a  poor  prince,"  he  con- 
tinned,  "  how  should  a  subject  dare  to  address  his  queen ; 
he  alone  might  aspire  to  your  hand  who  had  a  throne  to 
offer." 

"I  am  nothing,"  said  Rosa,  "but  a  poor  girl  who  is 
truly  grateful  for  the  unmerited  favor  she  receives." 

"  I  love  you,"  the  prince  whispered. 

"Do  not  say  that,"  said  Rosa,  "you  mock  me;  oh, 
the  air  strikes  so  coldly  on  me — would  it  be  too  much 
to  ask  you  to  get  me  my  opera  cloak  ?  " 

The  prince  hurried  away ;  she  looked  around  her;  it 
was  quite  silent;  the  hum  of  voices  came  lik^  distant 
echoes;  the  music  was  just  audible.  She  turned,  off 
into  a  narrow  path ;  fnigraut  blossoms  hung  thick  on 
either  side.  "How  sweet,"  she  murmured  to  herself. 
She  went  on;  she  turned  into  another  winding  path; 
she  came  to  a  marble  seat.  As  she  sat  down,  a  nightin- 
gale just  above  her  in  the  thick  branches  suddenly  pierced 
the  silence  with  his  song.  "Beautiful  creature!"  said 
Rosa,  in  English. 

"  Beautiful  creature ! "  was  repealed  by  a  low  voice 
near  her.  She  started  and  looked  around. 

"Miss  Thornton,  am  I  too  bold  an  intruder?  I  have 
been  lingering  here,  listening  to  the  nightingale's  song. 
I  remember  that  long  ago  you  loved  to  hear  its  sweet 
notes." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Livingstone!"  said  Rosa.  Her  voice 
trembled;  she  paused ;  then  she  said,  "  I  did  not  know 
you  were  in  Milan." 

"I  came  the  day  after  your  arrival.  I  have  seen  you 
every  night  upon  the  stage.  I  have  followed  you  every- 
where." 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  375 

"  And  where — "  said  Rosa,  struggling  to  conceal  her 
emotion,  "  where,  all  this  while,  have  you  hidden  your- 
self?" She  rose. 

"  Take  my  arm,"  he  said.  She  took  it,  and  they  wan- 
dered on  in  silence  they  knew  not  whither.  He  looked 
down  at  her,  hut  her  eyes  would  not  meet  his  own,  and 
he  saw  that  her  cheek  was  colorless.  He  bent  forward. 
She  breathed  more  quickly. 

"  Rosa,"  he  said,  "I  must  speak,  I  cannot  bear  this  life 
of  misery  any  longer.  I  love  yon.  I  have  loved  you 
ever  since  the  first  day  we  met.  I  loved  you  when  I 
was  scarcely  conscious  of  it  myself;  through  absence — 
through  separation — " 

"  Of  birth ! "  said  Rosa  coldly,  as  she  drew  a  long 
breath. 

" It  is  true,"  he  answered,  "I  will  not  deny — " 

"  And  Mary,"  Rosa  broke  in  quickly,  "  what  of  her  ?  " 

"  Mary,"  he  answered,  "  I  have  loved  tenderly  and 
truly,  but  never,  Rosa,  as  I  have  loved  you.  She  is  a 
noble  woman,  worthy  of  the  highest  love  that  a  man 
can  give.  She  knew  of  my  love  for  you — and  she  was 
generous!  Speak  to  me,  Rosa.  I  know  well  that  you 
are  not  now  the  simple  little  girl  who  once  needed  pro- 
tection and  guidance.  I  know  too  well  what  I  must 
seem  to  your  eyes.  You  will  say  that  I  scorned  you 
then,  and  now  that  you  are  courted  and  admired  by  the 
whole  world,  I  come  to  take  my  chance  of  success  with 
all  the  rest ;  that  my  eye  could  not  see  the  star  that  was 
hidden  by  the  clouds,  but  discerned  it  only  when  its 
radiance  lit  the  sky;  say  what  you  will,  but  love  is  love, 
Rosa,  and  pain  is  pain — and  believe  me,  I  have  suffered 
deeply,  intensely,  fur  your  sake! 


376  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

"It  is  true — the  wife  I  would  have  chosen  should  have 
kept  the  fragrance  of  her  life  for  myself  alone.  She 
should  have  been  unknown  to  the  world — its  praises 
unsounded  in  her  ear — my  love  sufficing  her  heart. 

"But,  Eosa,  it  is  all  in  vain — in  vain  that  one  wrestles 
with  his  destiny.  I  lay  my  heart  and  soul  at  your  feet. 
The  immense  sacrifice  I  ask  I  would  atone  for  by  the 
immensity  of  my  love,  of  my  adoration  for  you.  Will 
not  the  true,  unswerving  devotiou  of  a  life  suffice  ?  The 
hour  must  come  when  the  world's  applause  must  cease; 
but  love,  my  beloved,  is  immortal." 

He  paused.  There  was  a  stillness  in  the  air  so  great, 
it  seemed  to  Eosa  as  if  she  could  not  break  it. 

He  put  his  arm  about  her.  He  heard  a  suppressed 
sob :  "  Speak  to  me,  Eosa,  speak,"  he  said,  "  this  silence 
is  too  terrible  1 " 

She  leaned  her  head  for  a  moment  upon  his  shoulder. 
He  drew  her  closer  to  his  breast.  Suddenly  she  freed 
herself  from  his  arm  and  stood  erect  before  him.  As 
the  moonbeams  glimmered  through  the  heavy  foliage 
above  them,  their  silvery  light  rested  on  her  face,  which 
in  the  mystic  sheen  looked  pale  and  still  as  marble  1 

"  I  love  you !  "  she  said,  in  a  clear,  low  voice.  "  I  have 
loved  you  during  all  these  years.  No  admiration,  no 
love,  no  homage,  has  had  power  to  break  the  spell  you 
cast  about  my  spirit.  You  were  the  hero  of  my  youthful 
dreams — my  god  on  earth.  When  I  was  poor,  despised, 
degraded,  you  were  kind.  I  was  lonely  and  unprotected 
— you  respected  me.  For  that  my  soul  went  forth  in 
gratitude,  and  my  heart  in  yearning.  Fame  could  not 
wear  this  out 

"Yes,  I  love  you,"  she  went  on  in  lower  accents;  "but 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL,  377 

what  you  ask,  I  will  never  give — and  were  you  wholly 
generous,  you  would  not  ask  it!  What!  give  up  my 
career,  my  art,  my  work,  to  which  1  owe  freedom,  in- 
dependence, self-respect — even  the  expression  of  your 
love  ?  "  she  said,  raising  her  eyes  for  one  moment,  while 
the  light  flashed  from  them,  and  her  lips  curled.  "  No  ; 
that  you  have  no  right  to  demand." 

"Rosa!"  he  cried,  in  tones  that  thrilled  her  soul, 
"Rosa,  from  your  lips  have  fallen  the  sweetest  words 
that  my  ears  will  ever  know.  You  have  told  me  that 
you  love  me.  Surely,  a  woman  who  truly  loves  would 
not  willingly  see  her  lover  humbled  before  her  eyes, 
dragged  about  like  a  slave  attached  to  her  triumphal 
car — to  hear  the  world's  applause  sound  nightly  in  his 
ears — of  her  whom  he  would  wish  to  keep  sacred  from 
the  vulgar  gaze  !  To  know  that  his  beloved  was  not 
wholly  and  solely  his!  That  the  public  ennui  laid  claim 
to  her  as  an  amusing  toy  !  No,  never!  the  humiliation 
would  be  too  grrat — too  bitter  !  I  could  not  bear  it! 
Rosa,  come  with  me ;  let  us  go  far  away.  I  have  a  for- 
tune ample  enough  to  satisfy  the  pride  of  any  woman. 
You  have  fought  the  great  battle  of  life,  and  have  won  it; 
let  that  suffice." 

"  Not  so,"  she  answered,  with  quivering  lips ;  "  not  so. 
T  will  not  forsake  the  path  which  I  marked  out  for  my- 
self. I  traced  it  with  my  own  hand,  and  I  will  tread  in  it 
to  my  grave." 

"  Then  we  must  part,"  said  Mr.  Livingstone,  proudly. 

Her  voice  did  not  waver.  "  Then  we  must  part !  Be 
it  so  !  "  she  said. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Rosa,  let  not  pride  divide  us  1  Is 
this  your  decision  ?  Are  you  inexorable  ?  " 


378  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

"  I  am,"  she  answered,  firmly. 

The  branch  of  a  tree  broke  near  them.  Some  one 
was  approaching.  Rosa  looked  at  Mr.  Livingstone. 
"  Signoriua!  Signorina  Thornton  I"  rang  out  on  the 
still  air. 

"  Farewell,  then,"  said  Mr.  Livingstone. 

"Farewell!"  returned  Ros:i,  and  he  disappeared. 

"  Signorina !  Great  heaven !  I  thought  you  were  lost. 
I  have  wandered  everywhere  in  search  of  you.  Let  me 
put  your  mantle  about  you — the  night  is  growing  chill. 
How  pale  you  are.  You  look  a  transfigured  spirit  in 
this  ghostly  light;  as  if  you  might  easily  have  vanished 
from  our  sight  But  you  may  be  sure  I  shall  not  lose 
you  again." 

"Prince,"  said  Rosa,  " I  am  not  well.  The  night  air 
has  chilled  me.  I  feel  faint.  I  will  not  return  to  the 
ball-room.  Will  you  not  take  me  quickly  to  the  count- 
ess's carriage,  and  then  call  her  ?  I  must  go  home.  In- 
deed, I  cannot  stay." 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  see  you  to-morrow  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes;  let  me  go  now.  Please  take  me  to  the 
countess." 

"Lean  on  my  arm,"  he  said,  and  in  considerable 
alarm,  hurried  his  charge  toward  the  front  of  the 
palace  and  placed  her  in  the  carriage. 

Will  you,"  said  Rosa,  "kindly  speak  to  the  countess  ? 

Do  not  frighten  her.     Say  only  that  I  do  not  feel  well." 

Wlu'ii  her  chaperon  arrived,  however,  Rosa  was  quite 

unconscious,  but  she  soon  revived,  and  entreated  to  be 

taken  home. 

On  the  following  morning,  the  equipage  of  Prince 
Liciniano  drew  up  at  the  door  of  Rosa's  hotel,  but  the 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  3t9 

Signorina  Thornton  was  too  ill  to  see  any  one.  For  a 
week,  the  prince's  valet  brought  the  rarest  flowers  to  the 
young  actress;  on  the  eighth  day  he  bore  back  his  bou- 
quet with  the  unwelcome  intelligence  that  the  young 
lady  had  gone  to  Lucerne  with  the  Countess  Halaspina — 
no  better,  no  worse. 

Meanwhile,  Rosa,  who  had  been  tenderly  watched  by 
Helena,  watched  with  equal  solicitude  the  change  which 
had  crept  over  her  friend's  features.  The  restless  look 
Avas  less  frequent  now,  and  at  times  there  was  an  ex- 
pression almost  of  peace  on  the  countess's  face;  but 
there  was  a  transparency  in  her  complexion,  an  evan- 
escence in  her  look,  which  excited  in  Rosa  deep  anxiety. 
Often  she  was  filled  with  remorse  when  she  looked  at  her. 
She  feared  that  in  her  great  trouble  she  had  forgotten 
Helena's ;  she  felt  that  had  she  dwelt  lesss  upon  her  own 
sorrow,  she  might  have  ministered  more  to  her. 

Then,  again,  she  would  almost  entirely  forget  Helena, 
and  the  memory  of  Ernest's  last  farewell  to  her  would 
ring  in  her  ears.  Had  she  been  cruel  to  him?  She 
knew  too  well  herself  the  pangs  of  an  unreturned  love. 
No  ;  he  was  sure  of  her  love ;  she  had  told  him  of  it ; 
only  in  the  whirl  and  turmoil  of  her  own  feelings  that 
night,  she  could  scarcely  recall  what  she  had  said.  Was 
it  not  a  heartless  thing  that  she  had  done  ?  He  had 
laid  down  his  life  at  her  feet,  and  she  had  spurned  it. 
She  had  told  him  that  she  preferred  the  world's  homage 
to  his  devotion.  Oh,  how  her  heart  ached  and  ached. 

"  I  love  him,"  she  would  murmur,  as  she  laid  her  head 
wearily  on  her  pillow,  at  night.  "  I  love  him  better  than 
my  life,  and  yet  I  have  chosen  a  cold  career,  that  will  re- 
turn me  nothing;  but,  no,  I  was  right,  I  could  not  yield 


380  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

to  him ;  oh,  how  gladly  I  would  have  yielded.  But  now 
it  is  finished ;  the  die  is  cast.  It  is  true  that  he  could 
not  well  have  been  my  husband.  I  should  not,  perhaps, 
have  respected  him  so  much,  had  he  been  Avilling  to  sa- 
crifice everything  to  me.  Ah,  my  God !  why  did  I  ever 
see  him  ?  Why  do  those  who  put  no  conditions  on  their 
love,  never  move  me  ?  lie  was  right,  when  he  said,  '  It 
is  in  vain  that  we  struggle  with  our  destiny/  Where  is 
he  now?  Perhaps  he  will  go  back  to  Mary.  Oh,  every- 
thing is  pressing  on  my  brain,  and  sometimes  I  think  I 
shall  go  mad  1 " 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

HE  spring  and  summer  had  come  and  gone. 
The  leaves  had  fallen  from  the  trees;  travel- 
ers shuddered  at  the  dreary  prospect  around 
them,  and  hurried  away  from  the  place  where 
their  feet  had  trodden  so  merrily  a  few  weeks  before  — 
still  Helena  and  Kosa  lingered  in  Lucerne. 

Rosa  had  entered  into  an  engagement  with  Salvini  for 
the  1st  of  November.  They  were  to  open  the  season  at 
Turin,  but  Rosa  looked  wearily  forward  to  her  new  ap- 
pearance before  the  public. 

Helena  grew  daily  weaker  and  weaker.  She  strove  in 
vain  to  conceal  it  from  Rosa,  but  Rosa  could  not  be  de- 
ceived. Over  Helena's  beautiful  face  there  seemed  at 
times  to  have  fallen  a  sacred  light,  as  if  the  gates  of 
eternity  had  half  opened  and  shed  their  radiance  upon 
it.  When  she  saw  Rosa's  eyes  fixed  earnestly  upon  her, 
ehe  would  turn  away  her  face,  as  if  it  pained  her. 

"  Rosa,"  she  said,  one  day,  as  they  sat  in  the  deepen- 
ing twilight,  "  Rosa,  I  have  many  things  to  say  to  you ; 
come  and  sit  by  me,  and  hold  my  hand  in  yours." 

Rosa  drew  near  to  her,  and  took  her  hand  in  both  of 
hers — it  was  cold  to  the  touch ;  Rosa  started. 

"  Darling,"  said  Helena,  in  tones  Rosa  had  never  heard 
from  her  before,  "  do  not  start,  I  shall  not  be  long  with 
you;  I  am  going  to  him — to  my  early  love — to  Mimo. 


382  THE    ITALIAN  GIRL. 

You  have  been  an  angel  to  me.  You  came  and  stood 
between  his  grave  and  me ;  you  lifted  up  my  heart  to 
God;  you  taught  me  how  to  pray;  it  was  your  young, 
fresh  love  that  first  stopped  the  weary  aching  here.  I 
thought  there  was  no  pardon  for  me ;  but  you  told  me 
that  God  was  merciful ;  he  has  been  merciful  to  me. 

"Last  night,  Rosa,"  she  said,  her  voice  growing 
strangely  hollow  as  she  continued — "last  night,  Mimo 
came  and  smiled  on  me  ;  I  saw  his  face,  as  of  old — not 
that  one — not  the  terrible  mask  of  disease  and  corrup- 
tion he  once  wore, — he  was  radiant  in  beauty,  and  he 
opened  his  arms  to  me,  and  .<a!d,  'Helena,  I  love  thee; 
not  because  thou  art  beautiful,  but  because  thou  hast 
been  good  to  the  unhappy,  to  the  poor,  and  to  the  sick.' 
And  I  answered, 

"'Mimo,  canst  thou  forgive  me  my  fatal  sin  against 
thee  ? '  and  he  said, 

"  *  Helena,  if  God  smote  me  through  thee,  it  was  well.' 

"Oh,  Rosa,  my  beloved  child,  I  believe  in  the  immor- 
tality of  the  soul,  because  of  the  awful  agony  that  sin 
brings.  The  body  is  sweet ;  it  breathes  of  the  things  of 
this  earth.  The  perfume  of  flowers,  and  the  sunlight 
and  song  are  the  body's  banquet;  but  the  soul's  suffer- 
ing— that  grows  into  God's  light  through  pain. 

"  I  know  there  is  a  God.  God  means  eternal  goodness : 
a  God  cannot  create  us,  and  suddenly,  as  by  a  caprice 
erase  our  lives.  That  we  may  see  his  Godhead,  we  suffer 
such  remorse,  such  misery,  as  washes  out  our  sin  and 
gives  us  sight — true  repentance.  I  mean  not  that  which 
is  wrung  from  us  through  fear,  nor  yet  through  hope; 
only  that  which  comes  through  infinite  sorrow  has  the 
seal  of  God's  forgiveness. 


THE   ITALIAN   GIRL.  J,83 

"  God  is  just,  but  he  is  infinitely  merciful.  Rosa,  lie 
has  wiped  away  my  tears;  he  has  given  me  back  my 
Mimo ;  he  is  a  tender  father,  who  loves,  even  through 
his  child's  perversity;  he  will  take  me  away  from  the 
fever  of  this  earth  to  his  living  springs  of  love,  and  at 
length  I  shall  find  repose  and  rest."  She  paused — 
Rosa's  sobs  broke  the  silence. 

"  And  what  shall  I  do  ?  "  Rosa  at  length  said,  when  she 
could  speak,  raising  her  friend's  pale  hand  to  her  cheek, 
wet  with  tears.  "What  will  become  of  me  ?  Helena,  I 
am  alone;  without  you,  life  would  be  insupportable. 
Oh,  my  friend,  who  will  watch  over  me,  care  for  me, 
help  me  ?  It  was  for  your  smile  of  approval  that  my 
heart  beat  high,  it  was  to  perfect  myself  in  your  eyes 
that  I  studied  ;  you  raised  me  out  of  myself,  and  without 
you,  of  late,"  she  said,  breaking  down  in  her  grief,  "  I 
should  not  h.-.ve  been  able  to  go  through  with  what  I 
have  done.  Helena!  I  loved — yes,  I  have  concealed 
everything  from  you — for  years  I  loved  him;  at  last,  I 
saw  him  again — he,  too,  loved  me,  but  he  would  have 
had  me  renounce  my  career,  give  up  my  profession,  turn 
from  all  that  had  ennobled  my  life — and  I  would  not." 

**  You  were  right,"  said  Helena.  Then  she  added,  in 
lower  tones,  "Yet  the  beautiful,  even  when  incarnate 
in  art,  will  pass  away ;  but  love  is  immortal !  " 

"  Ah,"  said  Rosa,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands, 
"  that  is  what  he  said ;  those  were  his  words,  Helena,  and 
I — I  threw  away  the  immortal  part !  All  day  long,  one 
weary  question  racks  me,  '  Was  it  my  pride  that  stood 
between  us — have  I  flung  away  my  all  of  earthly  hap- 
piness for  pride? 

"I  received  to-day  a  letter  from  America,  from  my 


384  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL. 

friend,  Mary  Marlboro.  She  speaks  of  him ;  she  knew 
he  loved  me ;  she  says  she  hears  that  he  has  taken  his 
passage  for  home ;  that  he  sailed  the  last  of  September. 
September  has  passed  now,  and  I  shall  never  see  him 
again.  Helena,  tell  me,  what  shall  I  do,  with  all  these 
years  that  stretch  out  before  me  ?  I  am  eo  young — 
without  love,  how  can  I  live  ?  Oh,  Helena,"  she  cried, 
and  Helena  felt  the  hot  blood  rushing  to  Rosa's  face,  as 
she  pressed,  it  with  her  icy  hands,  ''I  am  an  Italian  girl; 
I  cannot  assume  indifference;  I  cannot  forget:  I  have 
tried.  I  sought  society,  it  gave  me  no  relief — the  world 
disappoints,  and  thwarts  me." 

"  Yes,"  said  Helena, "that  is  the  saddest  thing  in  life; 
everybody  disappoints  us — not  everybody,  Rosa!  You 
never  disappointed  me,  my  child.  It  was  the  human 
part  of  our  Saviour's  nature  which  asked,  'Have  I  been 
eo  long  with  you,  and  have  ye  not  known  me?'  This 
is  the  heart-rending  cry  which  is  wrung  from  every 
soul.  However  imperfect  one  may  be,  yet  there  are 
within  most  of  us,  depths,  aspirations,  beliefs,  truth?, 
which  we  feel  have  a  right  to  be  understood,  and  no- 
•body  wholly  comprehends  them. 

"  In  one  sense,  everybody  is  a  Judas,  and  betrays  us 
with  a  kiss;  but  yet  we  must  not  despair;  there  is  a 
divine  chord  which  binds  us  to  humanity.  There  is 
one  great  heart  which  palpitates  and  heaves  through- 
out the  world,  and  beats  in  unison  with  every  other;  it 
ministers  to  the  poor;  it  gathers  the  little  ones  under 
its  wing,  and  teaches  them  that  'of  such  is  the  king- 
dom of  heaven';  it  loves  univers.illy  ;  it  rays  with  the 
prayer  of  faith;  it  is  God  in  us,  and  it  cannot  die. 

"As  for  you,  Rosa,  1  can  say  no  more  than  this:  true 


THE    ITALIAN   GIRL.  385 

love  is  rare — if  it  be  true,  it  cannot  pass  away ;  if  it 
blossom  not  in  this  world,  I  believe  it  will  hereafter. 
Time  is  fleeting,  Eternity  is  forever.  If  love  is  not  true, 
it  matters  not  how  soon  it  perishes.  Be  patient,  wait 
and  believe!" 

"  I  will  try,"  said  Eosa,  as  she  bowed  her  head,  and 
kissed  her  friend's  hands.  "I  will  try.  I  will  seek  to 
believe  that  what  is,  is  for  the  be&t — that  is  the  faith 
that  tries  men's  souls.  I  will  strive  after  it.  But,  Helena, 
promise  me  that  you  will  stay  with  me,  that  you  will 
not  leave  me  alone." 

"  Alone,  Rosa,  you  will  never  be.  My  spirit  will  watch 
over  ycu.  I  fear  not  for  you." 

A  new  anxiety  now  pressed  on  Rosa's  heart.  She 
feared  for  her  friend.  The  thought  of  losing  her  whom 
she  so  dearly  loved,  was  full  of  inexpressible  anguish  to 
her.  She  saw  herself  wandering  again  like  a  lonely 
spirit  through  the  world.  "Ever  alone,  ever  alone,"  she 
repeated  to  herself,  as  she  used  to  in  those  days  gone  by, 
from  whose  memory  she  shrank;  but  yet  for  Helena's 
sake  she  could  not  pray  that  she  might  be  left  to  her. 
She  longed  to  know  that  she  might  be  at  rest,  her  spirit 
freed  from  this  earth's  pains. 

The  season  was  bleak  and  dreary.  Rosa  seldom  ven- 
tured out,  but  sat  all  day  by  Helena's  side,  watching  her 
with  a  daughter's  fond  devotion. 

"Go,  Rosa/'  Helena  said  to  her  one  day,  "there  is  a 
glimmer  of  sunshine  outside;  it  will  do  you  good  to  take 
a  little  walk ;  but  be  sure  that  you  bring  me  back  a  ray  of 
light  when  you  come;  it  will  do  us  both  good." 

Rosa  looked  beseechingly  at  her  friend,  as  if  to  say, 
"  Do  not  send  me  from  you ! " 


386  THE    ITALIAN   GIRL. 

"Go  my  child,"  repeated  Helena,  "you  must  not  sit 
moping  in  the  chilly  house  all  day;  it  is  not  well  either 
for  the  body,  or  for  the  soul ;  wrap  yourself  up  warm. ' 

Rosa  drew  her  shawl  about  her,  bent  over  Helena, 
kissed  her,  and  went  out. 

The  wind  was  blowing  the  autumn  leaves  in  little 
gusts  before  her ;  they  looked,  she  thought,  like  varie- 
gated birds  flitting  restlessly  through  the  air. 

"That  is  the  way,"  she  thought,  "that  our  young 
dreams  go;  they  grow  brighter  and  brighter,  then  they 
fall  to  the  ground,  and  when  we  would  gather  them  to 
us  again,  they  shrivel  and  turn  to  dust  in  our  hands. 

"  And  now,  Helena,  I  see,  is  passing  from  me,  she  shines 
almost  with  an  ethereal  light  which  is  going  out  before 
my  very  eyes,  to  leave  me  in  the  darkness;  how  evanes- 
cent was  my  castle  of  hope ;  it  broke  like  a  brilliant  bub- 
ble in  the  air,  while  I  was  gazing  at  it." 

She  turned  her  steps  toward  the  great  rock  where  Ca- 
nova's  lion  is  hewn  in  the  stone,  and  sat  down  before  it 

"Oh  strength!"  she  said,  "how  regal  you  are  in 
your  grand  repose;  your  sleep  is  the  sleep  of  fearless- 
ness; how  great  is  your  rest!  You  dread  no  disturb- 
ance ;  the  elements  may  crash  around  you ;  you  are 
stronger  than  they,  you  rest  on  your  arms,  the  battle  is 
done." 

A  tiny  bird  flew  by  her;  he  lighted  for  a  moment  on 
one  of  the  lion's  claws. 

"Sweet  thing,"  she  said,  "in  your  tender  faith,  you 
fear  no  more  than  he.    God  protects  the  very  weak,  the 
strong  protect  themselves.      It  is  only  the   miseralil 
fighters  who  are  without  protection  ;  they  have  yet  their 
armor  to  win." 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  387 

She  sat  still,  and  watched  the  clouds  breaking  above 
her,  and  the  sunlight  struggling  through  them.  A  foot- 
fall sounded  near  her ;  it  was  a  lonely  place ;  she  sprang 
to  her  feet.  The  stranger  approached.  Good  God !  she 
could  not  be  mistaken  I  She  trembled  in  every  fibre  of 
her  body. 

"  Rosa,"  he  said,  in  those  tones  so  well  known  to  her, 
"thank  God  I  have  found  you!  Dearest,  speak  to 
me.  I  have  come  to  throw  myself  at  your  feet,  and  ask 
for  pity  and  pardon.  I  have  come,  Rosa,  to  say,  be  mer- 
ciful !  Oh,  tell  me  that  I  have  not  come  in  vain." 

She  put  out  her  hand  to  him  in  silence ;  he  caught  it 
in  his  own. 

"Sorrow  has  taught  me  one  lesson,"  he  said,  "that 
love,  true  love  is  untarnished  with  selfishness,  that  it 
makes  no  conditions,  but  gives  freely;  it  is  true  love  I 
bring  you — does  it  come  too  late  ?  " 

''  Can  blessings  come  too  late  ?  "  she  said. 

"Rosa!  Rosa!  do  you  love  me?" 

"  I  do,"  she  whispered.  He  drew  her  nearer  to  him. 
She  did  not  struggle  now. 

"  Is  your  love  mine,  Rosa — mine  for  this  world,  and  the 
next?" 

"  All  yours,"  she  murmured ; "  this  world  I  gladly  re- 
nounce ;  you  have  given  me  the  greatest  proof  of  love  a 
man  can  give.  My  heart  was  never  in  the  world's  empty 
applause,  only  I  thought  you  did  not  wholly  love  me,  if 
you  asked  of  me  what  you  believed  to  be  so  great  a  sacri- 
fice— and — and  I  loved  my  art" 

"It  shall  still  be  yours,  Rosa.  I  will  not  rob  you 
of  it" 

"  No ;  let  it  never  rise  again  between  us.    Mary  wrote 


388  THE    ITALIAN   GIRL. 

me,"  she  said,  blushing  deeply, "  that  yon  had  sailed  hack 
to  America.  I  thought  that  you  had  gone — that  I  had 
lost  you  forever — and — and — then  I  almost  learned  to 
hate  my  art." 

"  Did  that  give  you  pain,  my  beloved  ?  " 

She  turned  away  her  head.  After  a  moment's  pause, 
ehe  said : 

" Let  us  go.  Helena  will  miss  me ;  she  will  be  fright- 
ened." Then,  turning  to  him,  she  looked  up  pleadingly 
in  his  face.  "Let  us  go,  Mr.  Livingstone." 

"  Say, '  Ernest,'  and  I  will  follow  you  the  world  over." 

"I  cannot." 

"  Then  I  cannot  stir  from  this  spot" 

"  Mr.  Livingstone,  oh,  please  do  not  torment  me ;  she 
will  be  so  anxious." 

"Say  'Ernest'  once;  it  will  not  delay  us  a  second." 

"Not  now.    Helena  is  waiting  for  me." 

"  Do  you  love  her  better  than  you  love  me  ?  " 

"  I  love  her  dearly.    Let  me  go  to  her." 

"Not  yet;  you  are  in  my  power.    I  am  the  stronger." 

"Ernest,"  she  whispered,  "dear  Ernest — will  you 
come  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  sweetest  sound !  Once  again,  dearest,  let  me 
hear  it" 

"No;  not  until  it  is  spoken  in  Jier  presence." 

They  hurried  on.  Eosa  had  taken  his  arm.  On  her 
lips  played  the  smile  of  youth  and  perfect  happiness. 

How  lonely  her  life  had  seemed  half  an  hour  ago. 
Then  the  air  was  filled  with  all  the  dreary  sadness  of 
autumn;  now  it  seemed  to  breathe  the  bright  promises 
of  spring. 

"  How  sweet  and  soft  the  air  is,"  she  said. 


THE   ITALIAN  GIRL.  389 

"  It  is  to  me,  my  beloved." 

"Helena  will  love  you  for  my  sake,"  she  said. 

"  Surely  not  for  my  own." 

"  No ;  only  for  mine.  You  will  do  everything  to  make 
her  happy,  will  you  not,  Ernest?" 

"  Your  friends  are  mine,  darling.''  Then.,  after  a  pause, 

"Would you  like  to  live  in  America,  Rosa?" 

"  Yes,  if  she  might  come." 

"We  will  live  anywhere  that  you  choose,  Rosa ;  where 
the  loved  one  is,  there  is  home." 

"We  will  wander,  like  happy  spirits,  hand  in  hand,  for 
a  time,"  she  said ;  "  and  when  we  are  weary,  we  will  build 
our  nest  in  America." 

"  Once  I  remember  hearing  you  say  that  the  thought 
of  living  always  in  America  made  you  sad." 

"  All  is  changed  now,"  she  said.  "  I  would  rather  live 
there  than  anywhere  in  the  world.  But  what  will  you 
do  with  your  little  circus-rider  there?" 

"I  will  show  h^r  to  all  the  world,  as  one  of  the  best 
and  noblest  things  in  it." 

"  And  not  be  a  whit  ashamed  of  her?  " 

"I  shall  rather  fear  to  fall  by  the  sin  of  the  angels — 
too  much  pride." 

Rosa  laughed.  "  If  man  ever  falls  at  all,  it  is  sure  to 
be  as  an  angel,"  she  said. 

They  reached  the  hotel.  Rosa  glanced  up  at  the  win- 
dows. 

"  She  has  not  been  anxious,"  she  said,  "  or  she  would 
be  watching  for  me." 

She  went  in  quickly.  Ernest  followed  her  up-stairs. 
Rosa  paused  at  Helena's  door. 

"May  I  come  in  ?"  she  said,  in  a  gay,  laughing  voice. 


390  THE   ITALIAN   GIRL, 

She  turned  the  latch. 

"  May  we  come  in  ?  "  she  repeated. 

There  was  no  answer.  Rosa  opened  the  door.  Helena 
was  seated  by  the  table ;  there  was  a  sweet  smile  on  her 
lips. 

"I  have  brought  him,  Helena  1"  she  began,  eagerly; 
"he  may  come  in,  may  he  not?" 

She  left  the  door  open,  and  entered  hastily.  Ernest 
followed.  Helena  did  not  stir;  the  twilight  was  just 
beginning  to  deepen  in  the  room.  Suddenly  Rosa  ut- 
tered a  shrill  scream. 

"  Ernest !  Ernest  I — she  does  not  move!  Oh,  God,  she 
does  not  move ! " 

He  came  up  quickly ;  his  voice  trembled. 

"  She  is  dead/'  he  said. 

"  Oh,  Ernest,"  her  voice  came  broken  by  her  passion- 
ate sobs,  "  she  looks  as  if  she  had  been  happy.  See  what 
a  sweet  smile  she  wears." 

"  She  seems  to  bless  our  love,"  he  whispered,  as  he 
knelt  by  Rosa's  side. 

The  poor  girl  wrung  her  hands. 

"  Oh,  Helena  I "  she  cried,  "  speak  to  me ! — But  one 
word  I "  Her  head  sank  on  the  shoulder  of  her  lover. 
"  God  has  been  merciful  to  us  both  1  He  has  taken  her 
to  himself!  And  he  has  given  me  you,  Ernest  I " 


FINIS. 


